The Reconstruction
by Qweb
Summary: In American history, the Reconstruction is the name for the time following the Civil War. This anthology will feature missing scenes and post-movie scenes based on CA: CW. No character bashing. Ch53: Fugitives Together Ch54: The Elder Ch55: The Pointing Finger Ch56: Just Like Old Times Ch57: Not Ready Ch58: Ready or Not 1&2 Ch58: Always Winter and Never Christmas
1. Alone

_A/N: I have other stories in this series that take place before this one, but this is kind of an outline for my head canon, so I decided to start with it._

 **Alone**

Steve Rogers was alone.

Peggy had gone to her well-deserved rest. Bucky had allowed himself to be put in cryogenic suspension again to protect others from the Hydra demons in his head. The Avengers basically had been disbanded. Most of his friends were in prison or on the run. The ones that weren't probably didn't consider themselves his friends any more.

The man out of time was alone again.

Steve sat on his brooding bench in Wakanda, trying to figure out what to do next. Rather, he knew what to do, he just didn't know how to go about it. The man with a plan was making a plan.

King T'Challa entered the garden talking on a cellphone.

"No, it's quite all right," he told the caller. "I have come around to your way of thinking. There's no need to apologize. In fact, I have someone here you should talk to."

The king sat shoulder-to-shoulder with the Super Soldier and handed him the phone.

"Hello?"

"Steve?" said a familiar voice in surprise.

Steve smiled, because he wasn't alone any more.

* * *

Sharon Carter was alone, more alone than she'd ever been before.

Her beloved Aunt Peggy had died. Her career had collapsed. When SHIELD folded under the weight of Hydra, she had been lucky to find a job with the CIA. But she'd burned all her bridges behind her when she stole from them and aided the fugitives Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and James "Bucky" Barnes. Now she herself was also a fugitive, one of Interpol's most wanted.

She'd known this would happen, but it had still been an easy decision to make. She'd actually made it two years before, when the helicarriers began to rise over the Potomac.

Sharon Carter was still following the captain's orders.

After giving Steve his shield back, she'd driven to another town, then abandoned her car, walked five miles to a safe house the CIA didn't know about. (Old habits leftover from being a SHIELD undercover operative.)

When she left her apartment, her blonde hair was dyed magenta with black roots. She had a gold nose ring and a tattoo of a rose vine that peeked out of her collar and twined down her right arm. Dressed in jeans and a UCLA T-shirt, toting a well-worn backpack, she looked like any college student with a Eurail pass out to see the world. She didn't expect anyone would look past the magenta hair and nose ring to see a wanted fugitive.

As she approached the train station, she paused like a tourist to (pretend to) take a photo of the ornate exterior on her (burner) cellphone.

"Nice tat," said the familiar voice of the Black Widow behind her.

Sharon's heart sank. Of course Natasha had figured out her exit strategy. The Black Widow had been one of her training officers, after all.

Sharon turned slowly, holding her empty hands away from her sides, because she'd just as soon not be tasered or shot. She blinked when she didn't see the squad of officers she expected, or the Black Widow, for that matter.

What she saw was a girl with dishwater blonde hair that was badly in need of a trim. She wore jeans and a Lady Antebellum T-shirt and had her right arm in a cast. She carried a backpack in her other hand. She looked young and innocent and not at all official. In fact, she looked like she was on the run, too.

"I was hoping to run into you," Natasha continued. "Give a girl a hand?"

Sharon automatically took the backpack, which was really heavy, as if it was full of books. Not unreasonable for a supposed college student, Sharon supposed.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, her voice nearly drowned by the hubbub of the busy train station.

Natasha shrugged. "I tripped," she said, displaying her "broken" arm. "Turns out black cats are as unlucky as they're reputed to be."

She had fought the Black Panther! That wouldn't sit well with General Ross.

"I hear Brussels is pretty this time of year," Natasha said. "I can't wait to see it!"

OK, Brussels it was. Sharon obediently used the two Eurail passes to get tickets to Brussels. They were delayed a bit at the metal detector while Natasha showed the (fake) X-rays of the metal rod in her poor broken arm. Sharon hadn't bothered to try to smuggle any metal weapons onto the train, which didn't mean she was unarmed.

She had to admit, two college girls touring Europe together was much less suspicious than a solo traveler. Sharon smiled when she realized, she wasn't alone any more.

"What's in the backpack? It weighs a ton," she said, as they settled into their seats.

"Notebooks, of course," Natasha the college student answered.

Then Sharon realized that she'd seen that backpack before.

"What are you going to do with those?" she asked in alarm.

With a grim expression that belied her easy words, Natasha answered, "A little light reading."

* * *

Sam Wilson figured he would never be alone again. Locked in a cell with his fellow prisoners nearby, under constant monitoring, he'd never have another moment of privacy.

It was a little ridiculous, since only one of them had powers. The other three were ordinary men without their gear. They didn't need to be locked up in Super Villain Maximum Security, but then, he wouldn't want to leave Wanda here alone. They had her tied up with some kind of control collar on her neck. It was cruel. At least she had the company of people who understood her.

Sam had always wanted to be a good guy. He'd always wanted to help people. He'd been pararescue in the Air Force and a counselor at the V.A. He'd never expected to end up a wanted man, but he wasn't sorry and he wasn't ashamed.

He'd committed himself to Cap's cause. He believed in Barnes' innocence.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy." Sam stood with Captain America. He stood with Steve Rogers. Even if he stood alone, he would never regret following the captain's orders.

And then the lights went out. And out of the darkness came salvation.

Sam Wilson smiled.

* * *

Tony Stark was alone. Well, not exactly. Somewhere in the Avengers headquarters was a broken-backed Air Force colonel busy with his rehab and an android who seemed to have fallen into a deep depression.

The three of them rattled around in this big empty barn. He'd sent Maria Hill packing, because she'd never worked for him, not really. And he couldn't find Helen Cho now that he really needed her.

The building seemed like a ghosttown and he kept finding reminders of the Avengers who were gone — bits of feathers from an arrow, the mint tea that reminded Natasha of Bruce, a CD that Sam had recommended to Wanda. Little things — not to mention a gaping hole in two or three floors clear down to the basement! That Maximoff woman had no regard for building maintenance!

When he was feeling particularly oppressed, Tony would open a drawer and look at the god-awful, old-fashioned flip phone that reminded him of Steve's promise. He could still feel the anger burning in the back of his mind, but it didn't control him any more. He wouldn't call to make buddy-buddy with Rogers, but he wouldn't put his ego above world safety. If danger threatened, he'd make the call.

While he brooded, the mail carrier arrived with another package for Tony Stank. (Tony had checked. The man wasn't misreading the label. Apparently his former friends were expressing their displeasure. Of course, it might attract unwanted attention to address a package to the famous Tony Stark.)

This package was a lot heavier than the first. Inside were stacks of notebooks, various shapes and sizes. Bright red sticky notes marked pages throughout the collection.

He picked up the greeting card on top. It wasn't signed, but it was a Halloween card covered with a spider's web, so he could guess who sent it.

"Dear Tony, I know what you saw. I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner, but all Steve and I had to go with was Zola's taunting video. Not really a reliable source. And so difficult to bring up in a conversation. By the way, Hydra killed your parents. So we let it slide. Been a little busy in case you didn't notice. If you want to know more, read the marked passages in Barnes' notebooks. These are his memories and his thoughts about his memories. They were never meant to be shared, so I think they're honest. Just so you know, they're terrible, but they're important. If you really want to understand, read them. Or keep them safe for future generations or future criminal trials. Whatever. Stay safe. Be strong. You are Iron Man. And remember, you are not alone."

Looking at the notebooks, Tony had an almost overwhelming urge to burn them. Instead, he shoved them away in the bottom of a drawer for a day when he was feeling braver.

Then he went to find Rhodey, so they wouldn't be alone.

* * *

Baron Zemo sat in his containment unit, smug and smiling. He had destroyed the Avengers. They were all dead or in prison or suffering all alone.

But he was wrong.

* * *

 _A/N: So, Bucky's backpack full of notebooks disappeared after he and Steve and Sam and T'Challa were arrested after the tunnel chase. I think reading his memories of the crimes the Winter Soldier committed would be good evidence for future trials. But reading his reactions to those memories would be evidence in his defense._


	2. Siberian Succor

_A/N: A missing scene from CA:CW. For the record: Steve Rogers would never abandon Tony Stark in disabled armor in freezing Siberia. No way. Not gonna happen. Not if there was any other alternative, which there was._

* * *

 **Siberian Succor**

Limping, weaving, Steve Rogers — formerly known as Captain America — helped his stumbling, tottering best friend out of the missile silo in Siberia.

That hellhole had seen the death of a friendship, nearly a literal death, and Steve was relieved to see the last of it.

His wounded friend Bucky Barnes — formerly the Winter Soldier — raised his drooping head, as they made their slow, wavering way toward their stolen quinjet.

"Where's Stark's plane?" he asked hoarsely.

Battered, bloody and depressed, Steve had been focused on putting one foot in front of the other, but he looked up at Bucky's words. His head snapped from side to side, looking for Stark's plane, then he groaned.

"He must have flown the suit here." Steve rested his forehead on Bucky's shoulder. "He'll be trapped."

"Perhaps I may be of assistance," said a cultured voice with a vaguely British accent. An unfortunately familiar voice.

Steve spun toward the speaker, shoving Bucky behind him. Exhausted, without his shield, he stood no chance against the Black Panther's claws, but it wasn't in his nature to quit.

T'Challa stood with gloved hands empty and open. "Peace, captain. I heard Zemo's confession. I know the truth about my father's killer. Baron Zemo is a captive in my jet, on the other side of that outcrop." He nodded to indicate the direction. "I would like to make amends by aiding you and Mr. Barnes. May I help?"

"Do you know … does Stark have a plane hidden, too, or did he fly here in his suit?"

"He flew in as Iron Man. I followed him," T'Challa said.

Steve gave sigh that was almost a sob. "I had to disable the armor so we could get away. But I can't leave Tony here to freeze. I have to go back."

"What if he tries to kill your friend again?" T'Challa asked. He was curious to understand how these Avengers thought.

"Let him," Bucky said.

"Buck …" Steve protested.

"No, Steve, I killed his mother. I understand how how he feels. If it had been my mother, or yours … Remember that hobo who knocked your ma down and stole her bag?"

The thief had made the mistake of running away past two boys playing baseball and Bucky had planted his Louisville Slugger on the thief's kneecap, as if hitting a line drive. The police had hauled the crook off to the hospital instead of the jail. Nobody on the street felt sorry for him.

"Remember how mad we were? And your ma only had a skinned elbow," Bucky said.

"I remember," Steve admitted. "And I don't blame Tony for hating you, but I also know it wasn't your fault."

"So you're stuck in the middle like before," Bucky said. He eyed T'Challa. "Unless the king can help us."

Steve looked hopeful, as if he hadn't dared to ask. "Would you help Tony get to safety?"

"It would be my honor. Indeed, it is my responsibility, since I chose to join his team," T'Challa said. "What about you? Where will you go?"

Bucky snorted. "Away," he answered. "I don't think we've thought any further than that." The two men were wavering on their feet, as adrenalin drained away.

"Then permit me to offer you refuge in my country."

The two men looked astounded. "But nobody goes to Wakanda."

"Making it highly unlikely anyone would look for you there," T'Challa pointed out.

Steve and Bucky exchanged a speaking glance.

"We need somewhere to lie low, until we figure out what we're doing," Bucky said.

"Then, yes, your majesty. Thank you," Steve said.

"I will program the coordinates in your quinjet for my private landing pad, and I will tell my people to expect you."

"And then you'll help Tony?" Steve asked anxiously.

"Yes," T'Challa promised. "You show admirable concern for your enemy."

"He's not my enemy," Steve denied. "Well, I'm not his enemy," he corrected. "We were friends, once," he finished sadly.

"Perhaps you will be friends again," T'Challa said in consolation.

"I hope so."

The Black Panther helped the exhausted soldiers to their quinjet and watched it take off, then he returned to the bunker.

* * *

Tony Stark had pried the armor off his arms — helped by the fact that several pieces were broken. He was working with the small tools he always had on him to repair the radio damaged when Cap tore his helmet apart. He figured there was enough residual electricity in the suit to send a distress call. He was pretty sure Friday would have notified someone when the suit lost contact, but she wasn't as smart as Jarvis had been. Or, to be fair, she didn't have the years of experience Jarvis had possessed. Come to think of it, with the team fractured, most of them in prison and Rhodey in the hospital, would Friday know who to call for help? In fact, who could Tony call? He might have burned his bridges with Ross with that hold button crack. Then he heard a voice calling his name.

For a moment he feared/hoped it was Steve returning, then he recognized T'Challa. Tony casually leaned back on one elbow, insouciant in broken armor and bloodied bruises. T'Challa admired his aplomb.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, your majesty?"

T'Challa hid his amusement. These Avengers really were remarkable men.

"I followed you," T'Challa said candidly. "I wanted my father's killer. I thought it was Barnes, but I overheard Zemo's confession, so I trailed him and captured him. I saw Barnes and Rogers leaving and they said you were in distress, so I came to help."

"You didn't try to stop them?" It was a question, not an accusation. The Siberian climate had cooled Tony's temper and slightly numbed his pain.

"They were no longer my concern," the king said blandly.

"Any idea where they were going?"

"None." T'Challa lied easily. Diplomacy is the hallmark of kings.

"Right. Why would you?" Tony said, his voice edged with irony.

"I must deliver Zemo to the task force. May I offer you a lift?" the king asked.

Tony considered and decided that Ross the lesser was the lesser of two weasels. "Always up for a visit to the land of beer and pretzels," he said.

Tony held out his hand and T'Challa helped him up. As he limped toward the exit on stiff armored legs, Tony reached down to snag Cap's abandoned shield.

To T'Challa's questioning look, Tony replied shortly, "Souvenir."


	3. One-Kiss Wonder

_A/N: Yes, a midweek post! Because this is just a silly story fragment, really. I place this during Steve's first night in Wakanda, before Bucky chooses the freezer._

* * *

 **One-Kiss Wonder**

Rousing in the middle of the night, his half-awake mind cycling through random memories, Steve Rogers had a peculiar thought. He should stop kissing women. Bad things happened when he did.

After he kissed Private Lorraine — well, she kissed him — Peggy shot at him. After he kissed Peggy — well, she kissed him — he crashed a plane and was frozen for 67 years. After he kissed Natasha — well, she kissed him — they were blown up by a missile fired by their own side.

After he kissed Sharon — Ha! He kissed her! — but everything went wrong anyway. He fought his friends and destroyed the Avengers.

Only the first case was cause and effect, but there was a pattern nonetheless.

Maybe he should stop kissing women. Or maybe he should stop kissing and walking away. Maybe planning a romantic dinner with a show afterward would break that spell. With, maybe, even more romantic times at her place or his. He hoped he would see Sharon again so they could try to break that jinx together.

"Mine out of the gutter, Stevie," he imagined his mother's voice saying.

Maybe he should just get a dog, he thought.

He snorted, rolled his eyes at himself, rolled to his side and went back to sleep.

* * *

 _A/N: A couple of other notes. My sister pointed out to me that Zemo got to Siberia somehow, so that's another plane or vehicle Tony could have used to escape. Also, a couple of people were confused about who called Steve in the first chapter. The person who was (a) not in jail and (b) owed T'Challa an apology was — Natasha! I have a whole story arc in mind for The Reconstruction. Stay tuned!_


	4. Conversations: The Story of My Life

_A/N: If you missed it, I posted Chapter 3 on Wednesday, so see the previous chapter for an odd little thought, then return here for more serious contemplation. This chapter takes place before Steve gets that phone call in chapter 1. (Yes, I do have story arc in mind, but the chapters aren't necessarily linear.)_

* * *

 **Conversations with a King: The Story of My Life**

* * *

 _Once he stops trying to kill you, T'Challa is surprisingly easy to talk to._

* * *

Steve Rogers sat on a granite bench in a beautiful garden, but he didn't see the riotous colors of the tropical flowers or feel the oppressive humidity. Shoulders slumped, he stared at his hands lost in gloomy thought.

T'Challa, king of the African country of Wakanda, sighed in sympathy when he saw his former adversary, current friend. He sat beside the Super Soldier and opened his mouth to offer comfort, but he was interrupted by childish chatter.

A throng of children swarmed into the garden.

"I forgot it was Tuesday," T'Challa said to himself. "Prepare yourself, my friend," he told Steve. "This is King's Class Day."

He gave the American an apologetic glance, but Steve seemed to welcome the distraction. He sat up straight and smiled for the children.

Herded by a tall, black woman draped in colorful cloth, the children made a beeline for the young king. Seeming a little shy of the white-skinned stranger, the children grouped nearer to T'Challa's side of the bench.

The teacher bowed in respect. "Are we interrupting, your highness?" she asked uncertainly in Wakandan. "The appointment was not canceled."

"Your distraction is welcome," T'Challa replied, also in Wakandan.

"Children," the teacher prompted.

"We are sorry for the death of your father," the children chorused. "He was very kind to us."

"These classes were the highlight of his week," the king replied. "He said you made him feel young again. Unfortunately, I have not prepared a lesson, but we will talk. First, I think, we will practice our English, so my friend can understand us. Please, give a welcome to Captain Rogers."

Steve had picked up just a few words of Wakandan during his stay, but he definitely recognized his own name.

"Good morning, Captain Rogers," the children said politely in English.

"Molweni, class," Steve replied. "I apologize, but I haven't had time to learn much more Wakandan than that."

"But your accent is excellent," the teacher said in approval.

"Enkosi," Steve answered, using about half his remaining vocabulary to say "thank you."

"He is a 'super' fast learner," T'Challa teased. "You may know Captain Rogers by his other name, Captain America."

Children and teacher looked surprised.

"But … were you not fighting Captain America last week?" one of the children said hesitantly. They had always been encouraged to ask King T'Chaka anything, but this was a new king and the boy thought his question might be out of line.

But T'Challa just nodded. "Yes, we were fighting. But we have made peace now, which is a good thing."

"A very good thing," Steve agreed. He made a clawing motion with his hand. "The Black Panther is a dangerous opponent. He makes a much better friend."

"But why were you fighting?" a little girl asked.

"I will tell you the truth," T'Challa said, bending his head in contrition. "I made a mistake. Yes, yes, your king was in error. In my defense, I had only been king for a few hours. When I saw my father die, I was consumed by grief and by hate for the man who did this. I forgot my father's teachings of peace and cooperation. Instead, I wanted justice; no, I wanted revenge. People said a man named James Barnes was the killer and I accepted that without questioning. I pursued him and would have killed him if I could."

"But James Barnes was my childhood friend," Steve contributed. "He told me he did not attack the U.N. and I believed him, so I fought to defend him from his attackers, including the Black Panther."

"You must be very strong to fight the Panther and survive." The teacher was mightily impressed.

"It was vibranium vs. vibranium," Steve explained. "My shield is made of the same material as the Black Panther's claws."

"So we were evenly matched," T'Challa said, as the children and teacher hung on every word. "And then I learned that Barnes was telling the truth. Another man attacked the United Nations and killed my father and made Barnes seem to be the villain, all because he wanted revenge on the Avengers for the death of his family in Sokovia. So revenge begat revenge, death led to death, and I saw I was part of a vicious cycle leading to destruction. At last I remembered my father's wise words and forswore vengeance. I captured the true killer — alive, and I offered Captain Rogers refuge while he heals, because it was in part my fault he is wanted by the United Nations and cannot go back to his own home."

"So you can't tell anyone I'm here," Steve said in a mock whisper, putting his finger to his lips.

The children giggled, because who would they tell? But they made a sign — the Wakandan version of crossing their hearts — to show they promised to keep his secret.

"And what happened to your friend, Mr. Barnes?" a girl asked.

Steve hesitated.

"You may speak freely, captain," T'Challa assured him. "We are not afraid of hard truths in Wakanda, nor are we afraid of blood."

He pointed out two boys and a girl who proudly showed off scars from wild animal attacks. "This is the King's Class, orphans who have shown much promise in bravery or intelligence or in other skills. They reside here in the palace and will not speak of any of this outside the King's Garden. It is the rule."

The children all nodded solemnly.

Steve nodded in return and asked, "Do you know my story? The story of Captain America?" American children probably would, but he might not be so important to African children.

But the children nodded vigorously. "You are in our book of heroes," a boy said. He pulled a book from his shoulder bag and offered it to Steve. The captain couldn't read the Wakandan, but he recognized some names, like Hercules. There were several chapters on various Black Panthers over the ages and, sure enough, there was his own red, white and blue costumed self.

"But, the story says you died," the boy added uncertainly. "Is Captain America like the Black Panther, many men in one costume?"

"I am sorry," the teacher apologized. "The book is 10 years old. When we officially read the story, I tell them about your resurrection, but some children always read ahead," she said fondly, ruffling the boy's hair.

So Steve told them about fighting Hydra, about his pal Bucky's rescue then supposed death. He told about fighting the Red Skull, crashing in the Arctic, freezing and thawing out in 2012 and then, a few years later, learning, to his horror, that Bucky was alive, but brainwashed and turned into a killing machine. "He escaped from the crashing helicarrier, and I've been looking for him ever since. But I didn't find him until after he was accused to bombing the U.N."

"How would you feel, children?" T'Challa asked in portentous tones. "How would you feel if your best friend was lost, but then found, and then the world threatens to take him away again?"

One boy threw his arm around a classmate's neck, as if the thought was unbearable. Two girls clung to each other's hands.

"Since I woke up, I have made some friends. I guess you've heard about the Avengers," Steve said, getting nods from the children. "Tony Stark, who's Iron Man — it's kind of funny, because I knew his father Howard back in World War II. Anyway, he was trying to stop me from helping Bucky, because he signed the Sokovia Accords, which put the United Nations in charge. He was following the law, while I was following my heart. The real villain lured Bucky and me and Iron Man to a secret place — with the Black Panther following us. And then the villain showed Iron Man pictures of Bucky killing Tony's parents."

The children gasped.

"It wasn't his fault," Steve pleaded with the children to understand. "Bucky had been tortured and brainwashed for nearly 70 years. He didn't know who he really was until he escaped from Hydra."

"When he saw those terrible pictures, Iron Man went wild with grief and revenge, just as I had done, when I saw the death of my father," T'Challa said. "In that place, Captain Rogers was the only one not consumed by vengeance."

"No, I was consumed by fear," Steve said sadly. "Bucky was my protector when I was a small child. Now I had to protect him, even though it meant fighting with Tony who is also my friend. We were two against one, but he had an armored suit and a computer on his side, so we were evenly matched. In the end, we damaged the armor enough to let us escape."

He rubbed the still healing scar on his forehead.

"So, are you and Iron Man enemies now?" a girl asked.

"No. Well, not on my part," Steve answered. "I think, I hope, when Tony has a chance to cool down, he'll understand. Maybe he'll still want to arrest Bucky, but I hope he won't try kill him on sight."

"As for Mr. Barnes, we hope to heal him, to banish Hydra from his head for all times," T'Challa said. "So, children, I hope you understand our lesson here. Right and wrong are not always so easy to determine. Do not let your emotions control you, but approach others with your ears and your eyes and your hearts open. It took me almost too long to remember what my father often told me, 'Seeking revenge is like drinking poison and expecting your enemy to die. It cripples your spirit and destroys your soul.' This is the last lesson of King T'Chaka. Go in peace, young ones. Remember our story."

As the class filed out, one youngster stopped. "Captain Rogers? Does this mean there are no Avengers any more? No one to protect the world from aliens and monsters?"

"Son, the world may turn against us, but we will not turn against the world," Steve promised. "When we're needed, the Avengers will return. The world is not without its protectors." He clasped T'Challa on the shoulder. "You have one of the best here in Wakanda."

One impulsive little girl flung herself at Steve and gave him a big hug. "I'm sorry you got hurt. I am sorry you got in trouble for trying to do the right thing."

Steve had to laugh as he patted her shoulder. "That's my nature, honey. I guess you'd have to say, that's the story of my life."


	5. Conversations with a King: Round Two

_Once he stops trying to kill you, T'Challa is surprisingly easy to talk to._

* * *

 **Conversations with a King**

 **Round Two**

Steve Rogers started to rise as the King of Wakanda approached, but T'Challa waved the other man to remain seated.

"Have you made your decision, captain?" T'Challa asked.

"Please call me Steve, your highness."

"You honor me with the gift of your friendship," the African said sincerely. "I would be honored as well, if you would call me T'Challa."

"The honor is mine," Steve answered. "But that wasn't exactly what I meant. I am not a captain any more. I can't be Captain America. I never was, really."

"Pardon?"

"It's part of the problem," Steve said. "People think I'm Captain America."

T'Challa raised his eyebrows. "And you are not?"

Steve shook his head.

"Captain America was a fiction created by Senator Brandt to sell war bonds and boost morale," Steve said. "Even after I started leading the Howling Commandos, the image was useful, frightening the enemy and encouraging our allies. But the people back then knew me and knew the difference between Steve and Cap. In the 70 years since I went into the ice, a whole mythology has built up around Cap — that he's perfect, noble, upright. Even my fellow Avengers knew the myth before they met the man. There's only one person alive ..." As if he could see through walls, Steve's head turned toward the lab where Bucky was in cryogenic suspension. "... who remembers Steve Rogers, the stubborn little shit from Brooklyn who hated bullies and never backed down from a fight, even when he knew he couldn't win."

T'Challa began to see the parallels with the Sokovia Accords situation.

"People think I'm this perfect, obedient soldier," Steve continued. "But that wasn't what Dr. Erskine wanted. He wanted a good man, which I have tried to be. Do you know the story about how I rescued Bucky and the others?"

"I admit I was not as familiar with the tale as Americans would be," T'Challa said. "But I have looked you up since we found ourselves in this situation."

"Did you know that my first mission was unsanctioned?" Steve asked. "I went against direct orders to rescue the 107th."

T'Challa blinked. "That was not in the records I found."

"No one knows who wasn't there, and there are precious few left," Steve said. "Col. Phillips never reported my insubordination. Partly because it would have made him look bad, partly because he appreciated my success, but mostly because when he saw how useful I really was, he didn't want to risk me being court-martialed."

"So your whole fame as a warrior began with an act of disobedience," T'Challa said.

"Exactly. The U.N. wants me to follow their orders. But if I was good at following orders, I would have stayed a war-bond-selling dancing monkey and there wouldn't be a U.N., because Hydra would have won World War II with the Red Skull's super bombs."

T'Challa absorbed the information in amazement. Steve Rogers' story was so different from his own history of structured training and discipline.

"Thank you for confiding in me," he said finally. "But, to return to my original question, have you decided what you will do next?"

Steve nodded decisively. "I'm going to start the same way I started my military career — by rescuing my friends from prison."

* * *

 _A/N: Soon after this, Steve got that phone call from Natasha seen in Chapter 1. With information from her and Sharon, he had what he needed to plan a jailbreak._

 _If you missed it, I posted a separate story on Wednesday called "If Clint Had Been There."_


	6. Break Out

**Break Out**

"About time, Rogers!" Sam Wilson said when Steve Rogers loomed out of the darkness in the cellblock of the super villain supermax prison called The Raft.

The other male prisoners leaped to their feet to see whom Sam was talking to. Wanda Maximoff sat up and inched forward on her bunk, wincing at the angry prickling from her shock collar.

"What, did you stop for drive-thru?" Clint Barton asked Steve sardonically, but with great relief.

"No, that's your driving," Steve quipped. "Stand back, Sam."

The men couldn't help but notice the lack of the uniform, particularly the red, white and blue shield.

"Is that a crowbar?" Scott Lang asked doubtfully. "A crowbar won't open a regular prison cell, let alone …" His voice trailed off when Steve set the blade in place and threw his enhanced might against it. The locking bars snapped with a crack, crack, craccckk! And the heavy door groaned open.

"I'll be damned!" Scott breathed.

"We shut off the electricity, but there's a manual redundancy," Steve explained. "Without power, the whole system locks down."

"We?" Clint and Sam chorused.

"And what happened to your shield?" Sam asked.

"And your uniform?" Scott added.

"Guys, can we play 20 Questions later?" Steve said. "We've got a timetable to meet."

He cracked Clint's cell open, then turned to Scott's.

"Get Wanda first," Clint urged.

"Yeah, get the kid. She doesn't look so good," Scott agreed.

Wanda looked up wanly as Steve stepped up. The dark rings around her eyes stood out starkly against her pale skin. She was strapped into a straight jacket and there was a device around her neck that looked like a dog collar. It had a blinking light that indicated it had its own power source. When Wanda raised her head, the light turned red. Wanda shuddered as electricity jolted through her. She was unable to prevent a whimper from escaping her lips.

Steve saw red. He rammed the pry bar in and shoved so hard, the heavy door shot to the side, cracked in half and toppled forward. Clint dodged its fall, then stomped across it to grab the collar. A jolt of electricity made him yelp and Wanda moan. She closed her eyes and one tear dribbled down her cheek.

"Let me," Steve said. "Just one more jolt," he consoled Wanda. She looked up with trusting eyes and nodded.

Steve carefully slid the fingers of both hands under the collar, then viciously ripped it in half. Wanda gasped, but the pain was gone instantly. Steve dropped the smoking pieces, and ground them out like a cigarette butt, then pocketed the pieces, thinking doctors might need to see them. Sam smelled burning flesh and saw blisters well up on Steve's hand, but he wisely didn't comment.

Clint gathered Wanda into his arms, comforting the woman who wept in relief while Sam unfastened the straight jacket. Steve shouldered the crowbar and went to release the newest member of Team Cap.

After freeing Scott, Steve shoved the crowbar in Sam's hands, picked up Wanda and herded the others toward the control room.

"This way!"

They passed unconscious guards outside the cellblock and in the halls.

"Um, should we tie these guys up or something?" Scott ventured.

"If we're not out of here before they wake up, we're not getting away," Steve answered bluntly.

"All righty then," Scott muttered, trotting after the more experiences heroes.

They entered the control room — past more bodies. Clint brightened at seeing the person who was busy at the computers.

"Nat! I knew you'd come back to the light side!"

Natasha Romanoff accepted Clint's hug. "So you don't hate me?" she asked into his shoulder.

"You didn't hit me nearly hard enough for that," Clint answered into her hair, which had been cut short to fit under a wig during her escape from Germany.

Natasha wiped her eyes briskly. "Enough sentimentality." She turned back to the computers. "Laura and the kids are still off the grid," she told Clint, to his relief. "There's no trail to your home at all. Even Stark still thinks you live in Iowa."

She and Clint rolled their eyes in unison. As if Iowa appealed after his terrible childhood there. As if a spy would have a secret home in Iowa and call himself Hawkeye!

"You're clear to go home. Your cover is safe," Natasha said.

Clint really wasn't surprised. If releasing all SHIELD's and Hydra's secrets on the Internet hadn't compromised his home, Ross wouldn't be able to manage it. Tony had been a worry, but Clint had piloted the quinjet to his home after the debacle in Africa and carefully erased the coordinates afterward. The Iron Man armor might have done its own recording, but it had been damaged in the battle with Ultron and then the Hulk and it hadn't had a sentient AI guiding it at the time, so Natasha had been able to delete any information about the Farm from the armor's computer and everyone's cellphones. Of course, the biggest protection for the Barton family had been that no one knew they existed, so no one looked for them.

"Thanks, Nat. I can't believe Stark gave up my family on an open channel with Ross and his goon squad listening," Clint grumbled.

"He wasn't thinking clearly. None of us were." Natasha gave Steve a stern look. He bowed his head in submission, as he set the weakened Wanda in a chair.

"I futzed up the recordings where you and Stark were talking, but I can't remove it from anyone's memory," Natasha told Clint. "We just have to hope it wasn't important enough for anyone to remember."

"Ross was pretty focused on what Stark wanted with me," Sam contributed. "I don't think he gave us ordinary human types much thought once he confiscated our gear."

Natasha nodded. "That's good. But you!" She rounded on Scott and gave him a dope slap on the back of his head.

"Ow!"

"You gave yourself up!" she scolded. "Why did you mention Hank Pym when you knew the guards were listening?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Scott suggested, getting another dope slap for his trouble.

"Ow, cut it out!" Scott protested, dancing out of her reach. "I'm new at the whole super spy, superhero game. I'm just an ex-con with an engineering degree."

"Who can shrink," Clint said.

"And talk to ants," Sam added.

"Yeah, that."

Natasha moved toward him and he cringed.

"Leave him alone, Natasha," Steve said. "He came to help me, even though he knew we were outside the law."

"That was very brave," Natasha admitted to Scott. "But stupid," she added inflexibly.

"Hey, I resemble that remark," Clint grumbled.

* * *

The group heard a small explosion from down a hall. The former prisoners turned to fight, but Natasha told them to stand down, just before Sharon Carter came speeding toward the control room pushing a mail cart loaded with clear plastic storage boxes. Three of the boxes contained Sam's wings, Clint's bow and Scott's suit. The others were loaded with manila file folders and loose papers Sharon had stuffed in.

"Hey, girl!" Sam greeted her. "Nice hair," he said about her pink and black hair with just a trace of blonde roots beginning to show. It looked like Neapolitan ice cream.

"Thanks, Sam. Got a present for you," Sharon replied.

"It's like it's my birthday — a party and presents!" Sam joked. He went to claim his wings. Clint and Scott followed eagerly.

Steve hefted a box of papers under each arm, while Sharon grabbed another, leaving one for Natasha, who was still at the console.

"All right," she decided. "I've erased everything I can find. This ought to take care of the rest."

She thumbed a button on a remote control and small explosions popped in two sections of the computer banks. "That's just the cell surveillance records," she explained. "Don't want to compromise life support."

"Wouldn't bother me much," Clint said grimly, kicking one fallen guard who had been particularly cruel to Wanda.

He donned his quiver and Sam shrugged on his wing pack, leaving hands free to support Wanda who was very weak and shaky. Scott was busy checking his suit to make sure none of the vials of Pym Particles were missing. They were all present and the grow/shrink disks were all accounted for. "Thank God. Dr. Pym would have killed me if I'd let the government get their hands on this stuff," he exclaimed.

"According to the records, they've been too busy trying to find Steve and Barnes to worry about the Avengers they'd already captured," Sharon said.

"They were scheduled to 'inspect' your gear on Wednesday," Natasha said.

"Yeah, that means take it apart and steal anything interesting," Sam grumbled.

"Poor baby," Clint said, petting his bow and giving it a quick kiss. "Daddy won't let the bad men hurt you."

"Dr. Pym would have killed me," Scott breathed. "Choked by ants in my sleep." He shuddered.

"Next time, don't get caught," Natasha said practically. She smirked at the guys. "I didn't."

"Because you're the best. Everyone says so," Scott said earnestly. He didn't want another head slap.

"That's not what you said when you were fan-girling over Cap," Clint teased.

Steve was listening to a voice in his ear. "Time to go," he announced. "We can continue the banter on the plane."

Sam and Clint half-carried, half-dragged Wanda, as everyone trotted toward the exit to the windswept deck. The hanger roof was open and there was a strange black hoverjet waiting for them. The cargo ramp opened as they approached.

Clint carried Wanda inside. Scott and the women followed. Sam caught Steve's arm.

"Did Stark find you? Did he help? I told him where you were going," Sam was anxious to learn if he'd done the right thing. "He said he didn't believe Barnes was guilty of the bombing, and I believed him. So I told him where you were going. I hope I did the right thing."

Steve tossed the file boxes into the plane, patted his friend's shoulder and reclaimed the crowbar. "It's all right, Sam. You did the right thing. We'll talk about it inside."

As Steve turned to climb the ramp, the tip of the crowbar touched the edge of the jet, making an oddly muted ringing noise, as if the sound was swallowing itself. Sam would know that sound anywhere.

"Wait, is that a vibranium crowbar? You didn't melt the shield into that, did you?" Sam was aghast at the sacrilege.

"No, I left the shield with Stark. He said I didn't have any right to carry it any more, and he had a point. So I dropped it in Siberia."

"Then where did you get a vibranium crowbar?" Sam asked, as he climbed into the jet, the last refugee inside.

"We have many vibranium tools in my country. It is very durable, virtually unbreakable," a smooth voice answered from the pilot seat. Sam had fully expected to see Bucky Barnes at the controls, so seeing T'Challa left him flabbergasted.

"Did everyone come over to Team Cap?" Scott asked.

"Pretty much," Natasha answered, as she strapped Wanda onto a stretcher and started an IV.

"Even Tony came to Siberia to help, against Secretary Ross' wishes," Steve told the escapees. "He knew Bucky hadn't bombed the U.N., which didn't seem to make any difference to Ross, so Tony was willing to fight beside us to take out those five Winter Soldiers." Steve sighed. "That went sideways, eventually."

"How?" Clint asked.

"That is a story to occupy our flying time," T'Challa said. "Ross has been trying to contact the Raft. He will be sending help. Perhaps Iron Man himself."

Clint smirked at their pilot. He held out his hand, "Hi, I'm Clint Barton. Nice to meet you."

T'Challa shook the archer's hand gravely. "Greetings, I am T'Challa of Wakanda. I apologize for my earlier rudeness."

Clint airily waved away the apology. "Not a problem, your majesty. Not everyone likes chitchat in the middle of a battle. Different strokes for different folks."

Sam didn't know precisely what Clint and T'Challa were talking about, but he got the gist. "If you wanted chitchat, Barton, you should have gone against the spider kid. He'd have asked you a million questions about the science of your arrows."

"Sorry I missed it," Clint answered, as he took the copilot's seat and let T'Challa return to the controls. "I love talking ballistics."

Seeing everyone was strapped in, T'Challa took off from the Raft and cloaked his ship.

* * *

A half an hour later, U.N. forces arrived to find scorched computers, missing files and a shamefaced staff.

* * *

After the Black Panther's jet reached level altitude, Steve went to check on Wanda.

"How is she?" he asked Natasha and Sharon.

"She's weak and badly dehydrated," Sharon answered. "And she has burns on her neck. What did they do to her?"

"They put this shock collar on her," Steve said, holding out the pieces with his blistered hand.

Sharon immediately grabbed his hand. Sam saw the back of Steve's neck redden, which amused him greatly. Also amused, Natasha handed over the first aid kit. Sharon dabbed the broken blisters with antiseptic, then antibiotic.

"You don't need to. They're already healing," Steve protested.

"Better safe than sorry," Sharon said primly, as she put bandages over the worst burns.

To spare his friend any more embarrassment, Sam answered Sharon's previous question. "The guards put Wanda in a straightjacket, then put an electronic collar on her to prevent her from using her powers."

"But the collar seemed to think any movement was her trying to escape," Clint said angrily.

"Including swallowing," Scott added, just as angrily.

"It hurt to eat," Wanda said hoarsely.

"Barbarians," T'Challa growled.

"She'll be all right," Natasha said. "She just needs rest and proper nutrition."

"She will get both at my palace," T'Challa promised.

"A palace," Scott breathed happily. "I'm going to a palace. My daughter's never going to believe it." Then his face fell. "If I ever get to tell her," he said glumly.

Sam nudged him with an elbow. "Don't worry, Tic Tac, we'll find a way to get you home."

"So, Steve, you were going to tell us what happened with Tony in Siberia," Clint said.

Steve sighed and told them about Tony coming to help, about the dead Winter Soldiers, about Zemo's revelations and about Tony trying to kill Bucky.

"Barnes killed his parents? I don't blame him for going ballistic," said Scott, whose parents had died in a car accident.

"I didn't blame him either, but I couldn't let him kill Bucky. Bucky wasn't responsible for his actions as the Winter Soldier," Steve said firmly. "Bucky and I fought Iron Man."

"Two against one, tsk tsk tsk," Clint said dryly.

"He had armor," Steve pointed out. "And repulsors and Friday. We had a shield and a metal arm, which Tony blasted off Bucky's shoulder."

Everybody winced.

"Tony demanded that I give up, but I wouldn't. He was about to blast me with his repulsors, when Bucky distracted him. And I managed to damage the arc reactor and disable the armor. Then I helped Bucky out. Tony said his father made the shield and I didn't deserve it, and he was right. Captain America can't be a fugitive. So I dropped the shield and left."

"You left Tony there?" Clint asked sharply, because, no matter how mad he was at Stark, he couldn't imagine abandoning the man in Siberia in a disabled suit of armor."

"I was a little beat up," Steve offered as an excuse. "I didn't realize he hadn't come in a jet until we got outside. I thought I was going to have to go back while he was still angry."

"But I was there and was able to offer succor," T'Challa put in.

"So Bucky and I flew to Wakanda. T'Challa rescued Tony and took Zemo to the task force," Steve finished.

"And where is Barnes?" Sam asked. "I expected to see him piloting this jet."

Steve bowed his head, unable to answer.

"When he realized we had the technology, Mr. Barnes requested to be put back into cryosleep, so no one else can use him against his friends again," T'Challa kindly answered for him.

"Messed up," Sam said under his breath. He gripped Steve's shoulder. "We'll make it right, Steve. Somehow, we'll make it right."

* * *

 _A/N: Special holiday chapter coming on Monday. Happy Fourth of July. (Everyone has a fourth of July, even if it's only a holiday in the U.S.)_


	7. Fireworks

_A/N: Reminder that these stories are not in chronological order. This would actually take place after next Saturday's chapter, but this is the holiday-related story._

* * *

 **Fireworks**

Explosions of color burst above the royal palace, drawing appreciative hums and comments from the king's guests on the balcony and the citizens gathered on rooftops and in parks below.

The only one who wasn't smiling was Steve Rogers, though he tried valiantly. But fireworks always reminded him of Bucky.

Well, to be fair, at the moment almost everything reminded him of his friend lost, miraculously found and now frozen within view but out of reach.

The trouble was, Steve remembered far too many Fourth of Julys with Bucky Barnes at his side.

* * *

"You have the best birthday, Stevie!" 10-year-old Bucky said with enthusiasm as they sat on the bank of the East River watching holiday fireworks explode in the sky. "All those fireworks, just for you," the dark-haired boy said slyly, nudging his pal.

The skinny just-turned-9-years-old blond jabbed back with a pointed elbow. "They're not for my birthday. They're for the country's birthday," the serious-minded youngster chided.

"Nope, they're all for you, pal," Bucky enthused, throwing his arm around Steve's neck.

"Is it really your birthday?" asked a stranger, who was watching the fireworks with his large family.

Bucky wasn't afraid to talk to strangers — not when the Barnes family was two steps away, buying ice cream cones from a vendor.

"Sure is," he assured the man. "Stevie Rogers, born July 4, 1918."

"Happy birthday," the man told Steve. "Here, have a sparkler."

"Ask your father," Steve said sharply, when Bucky would have taken one without hesitation.

Bucky nodded, scrambled to his feet and darted to his father. Mr. Barnes looked over to meet the stranger's eyes. The man, a father himself, understood and held up a handful of unlit sparklers while gesturing at his family.

Mr. Barnes left his wife to complete the ice cream transaction and followed his son back to Steve.

"I hear it's this young man's birthday," the stranger said. "I wanted to give the boys a couple of sparklers to celebrate." The generous stranger was accompanied by four children scrambling around with sparklers, a harried but happy wife trying to keep the youngsters in line, and a grandma sitting on a kitchen chair that the man must have carried to the river on his back. The man's adorable 5-year-old daughter came and cuddled against her father's knee, which seemed to decide Mr. Barnes.

"That's very kind of you," Mr. Barnes said, which drew a whoop from Bucky.

The man just grinned, lit a pair of sparklers from a slow-burning punk, then handed them to the boys. "Happy birthday," he said again, and then moved off to distribute more sparklers to his clamoring crew.

Bucky and Steve waved the sparklers, making patterns in the air, to the delight of Bucky's younger sisters.

* * *

A bright flash and loud bang from above the Wakandan capital made Steve's memories abruptly shift to another July 4.

* * *

Artillery shells burst overhead. Sgt. Bucky Barnes dived into a ditch next to Capt. Steve Rogers, who raised his shield to protect both of them from flying rocks.

Cradling his rifle, Barnes rolled on his back, shoved back his helmet and grinned at his lifelong pal.

"Fireworks for the Fourth of July!" he shouted over the explosions.

"I wish they were fireworks," Steve retorted. "I wish we were sitting by the river right now."

A shell landed close, blasting them with mud.

"Born on the Fourth of July," Bucky teased, regarding the red, white and blue garb of Captain America. "And now you really look the part! Or you did before the mud bath."

Steve flicked a gob of mud off his shoulder and into Bucky's face by way of reply.

Bucky just laughed. "Happy birthday, Steve!"

"Thanks, Buck." Another shell blasted them with more mud.

"And many more," Bucky added fervently.

"From your mouth to God's ear," Steve answered, as they ran to a safer distance from the barrage.

* * *

"Cut it out," Sam Wilson ordered.

Steve blinked back to the present. "Huh?"

"I can tell when you're thinking about Barnes. So cut it out," Sam said. "The king went to a lot of trouble to give us a proper American Fourth of July celebration with hamburgers and potato salad and fireworks. We don't want him to think we're ungrateful."

"Besides, you're giving Wanda a headache," Clint called.

Still recuperating from her prison ordeal, Wanda had moved to the other side of the group, as far from Steve's turbulent emotions as she could get. Steve gave her an apologetic look. She smiled back, but didn't come closer.

"More importantly, Barnes wouldn't want you to brood," Sam scolded.

"Especially not on your birthday," Sharon Carter commented, as she leaned on Steve's shoulder. She knew everything about Steve, because he'd been her assignment when she was a SHIELD agent. And because she was Peggy Carter's grandniece.

"Wait? Captain America's birthday is the Fourth of July?" Scott Lang exclaimed.

"No," Sharon corrected. "Steve Rogers' birthday is July 4. Cap was born, I don't know, the day Project Rebirth worked? Or maybe the day that senator gave Steve the name Captain America."

"Or maybe the day Steve rescued the 107th from Hydra," Natasha suggested, appropriating Steve's other shoulder. (Yes, she knew more about Steve than she liked to let on.)

A bright shower of red, white and blue sparks lit up the sky overhead.

Steve smiled faintly.

"I'm sorry, guys. I just …" Steve swallowed. "I spent every Independence Day of my childhood with Bucky and his family. My mother was a nurse and she got a bonus for working the holiday. It's a big day for hospitals," he said dryly.

"I can imagine," Clint agreed. "Burns, food poisoning …"

"Ma always said it was an exceptional Fourth if no one lost any fingers," Steve said.

"When did you celebrate your birthday?" Scott asked.

"Ma's next day off," Steve replied. "She always used her bonus to buy me a gift or pay for an outing, places like the Bronx Zoo and the museums in the city. After she was gone, I still had Bucky. Even during the war we had fireworks — provided by the Germans."

The others chuckled.

"Happy birthday, captain." With his catlike tread, T'Challa arrived unnoticed (except by Natasha).

"How did you know it was my birthday?" Steve asked.

"Mr. Barnes told me before he went into the cryosleep," T'Challa said. "He commissioned me to organize this party and to obtain this gift for you." He handed Steve an envelope and a long skinny box wrapped in colorful paper.

Steve opened the present and gave an honest, heartfelt laugh.

Inside the envelope was a note, "Happy birthday, punk."

And in the gift was a box of sparklers — with a punk to light them.


	8. Cry

_A/N: This chapter takes place between Break Out, Chapter 6, and Fireworks, Chapter 7._

* * *

 **Cry**

Wanda Maximoff was given a room that seemed half hospital room, half guestroom. There was a comfortable bed with a head that could be raised. The capacious room had a couch, several chairs and two low tables, plenty of space for the patient's friends to gather and keep her company. Medical equipment was tucked discreetly in cupboards. The only thing that Wanda needed was an IV stand with a bag dripping to rehydrate the former prisoner.

Wanda insisted she was fine, though weak. The Wakandan medical staff agreed that she just needed rest, liquids and, in a little while when she was feeling less queasy, food.

Everyone went to his or her assigned room to wash away the stink of prison and change into comfortable clothes. T'Challa promised the prison garb would be incinerated.

After cleaning up, they all filtered back to Wanda's room, because she wasn't allowed to get up yet. Eventually, everyone was there except Cap, who had been the first to check on Wanda, but had not stayed.

Suddenly Wanda gasped and sat up straight, then bent over and wrapped her arms around her knees, as if she was in pain.

"Are you all right?" Clint asked in quick concern. "Should we call the doctor?"

"No, I'm fine. It's not me. It's the captain. He's in terrible distress. I've never felt such pain from him."

"He wasn't hurt," Sam insisted.

"Not physical pain," Wanda clarified. "Emotional pain."

"Ah," T'Challa said sadly. "He must be visiting Sgt. Barnes."

"Someone should go to him," Wanda said. She remembered Steve coming to her after Lagos. Her eyes searched the room. "Sam, please?" She thought Sam was the best choice. He knew Steve as well as anyone and he had the counseling background.

She gave an apologetic smile to Sharon, who had leaped to her feet. Wanda knew the agent wanted to help Steve, but Wanda thought Steve would be embarrassed to show weakness in front of a woman he liked. Sharon gave a little nod to show she understood and sat back down, though her eyes were sad.

"Where is he?" Sam asked T'Challa, who provided directions. "We'll be back. Save us some food," he commanded.

Sam found Steve sitting on a bench in a laboratory, facing a cryo chamber where Bucky Barnes' peaceful face could faintly be seen beyond a film of fog and ice crystals. Steve looked peaceful enough, until you saw the agony in his eyes and his fingers twisted together so tightly the muscles stood out on his arms.

Sam sat beside him and nudged Steve's shoulder with his own. "You're allowed to cry," Sam said. "No one will think less of you. You don't have to be Captain America all the time."

"That's not Cap," Steve answered. "That's pure Steve Rogers. I learned as soon as I started school to never let anyone see you cry. If you cried, the bullies enjoyed it more. They hit you more and mocked you more and came back more often. I learned to never run away, either. With my scoliosis and asthma, the bullies would just catch me anyway, so I stood there and took it. I didn't cry even when Denny McGill kicked me and cracked two of my ribs. He got bored when I didn't react and left me alone."

"Man, I knew you were messed up, but I didn't realize how much," Sam said frankly.

Steve gave a weak smile. That's why he could talk to Sam. Sam didn't bullshit him or put up with his bullshit.

"I didn't cry when my Mom died. I told myself it was a merciful release; she'd been suffering so much with the TB. I told myself it wasn't right to cry just because I'd miss her when she'd gone to a better place without pain. I didn't cry when Peggy forgot me three times in one conversation; I smiled so she wouldn't worry. I didn't cry when Bucky fell and I thought he'd died. Soldiers didn't cry; they drank to kill the pain, which didn't work on me."

"And now?" Sam prompted.

"Now, Bucky's alive. He's right there," Steve gestured at the cryo chamber. "Why should I cry when this was his choice, when he's at peace and no one can hurt him or use him against his will?" Steve rubbed his sore but dry eyes. "I'm not sure I know how to cry any more. It's been so long."

"But it hurts," Sam said.

"It hurts so bad," Steve moaned. "We were looking for him so long, and I finally found him and he knew me — and now he's back in the freezer again. We had one conversation, Sam, just one that wasn't about tactics and mission prep. Just one chance to reconnect and reminisce while we were flying to Siberia. Two hours, tops, between treating our wounds and gearing up for the mission."

Steve told Sam about the two of them treating each other's wounds, an act familiar from their combative childhoods.

They'd gone on to argue which was better, Steve's mother's apple pie or Bucky's mother's peach cobbler, a debate 85 years old and still with no resolution. And they mourned the fact that they would never taste either one again.

They talked about old friends, particularly the Howling Commandos.

* * *

"I heard Peggy Carter passed. I'm sorry," Bucky said.

"We never really had a chance," Steve said sadly. "But I was glad to have a couple years to get to know her again. Everyone else was gone before I came out of the ice."

Bucky cleared his throat uneasily and changed the subject, asking about the Avengers. ("Now I realize, he didn't want to talk about Howard," Steve told Sam.)

Steve asked Bucky about what he'd been doing since he escaped from Hydra. That's when Steve found out about the notebooks full of memories, like trips to Ebbets Field and Coney Island, which set off a spate of "remember whens."

* * *

"And then, all too soon, we were landing in Siberia," Steve finished. "He was like a brother to me, Sam. We've known each other as long as I can remember. I just found him again and now he's gone. He's right there, but he's gone! I couldn't argue against him. It was his choice to make and too many people have taken his choices away. But I miss him so much already. I dragged all my other friends into ruin to save Bucky and now I've lost him anyway."

Anguish was strong in Steve's voice, but he still didn't shed any tears. All Sam could do was wrap his arm around his pal's shoulder.

Sam finally persuaded Steve to return to Wanda's room, where everyone was talking quietly around a low table filled with delicious smelling dishes familiar and exotic. (Though what was exotic to Wanda was different from what was exotic to Scott.)

To forestall any interrogation of Steve, Sam began to tell a story about his Air Force wingman, Riley.

While they ate, they talked for hours about the people they loved and missed — Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff, Phil Coulson, Scott Lang's crazy parents — and equally crazy daughter, Clint Barton's family, King T'Chaka.

King T'Challa sent an attendant for a basket of handkerchiefs and made sure to blow his nose on the first one, so his friends wouldn't be afraid to use the delicately embroidered pieces of cloth for their intended purpose. "They wash," he said.

The group told stories, laughing and crying, sometimes at the same time. When Steve wiped his watering eyes — whether it was from laughter or grief — Sam and Wanda exchanged a triumphant glance. The captain was healing. And, as always, the Super Soldier healed fast.

Finally full of good food and exhausted by the day's activities and memories, the Avengers split off to their guestrooms. Steve yawned and stretched. He thought he would sleep well tonight, when he had expected only nightmares. He gave Sam and Wanda a nod of thanks and went to bed for a night of restful, dreamless sleep.

Sam and Wanda high-fived.


	9. The Opposite of Hero-Worship

_A/N: Steve calls a meeting the day after the previous chapter._

* * *

 **The Opposite of Hero-Worship**

"I want to apologize to all of you," Steve Rogers told his friends, who were all outlaws because of his actions — except for King T'Challa, of course.

"Cap, I mean, Steve, we're grown adults. We knew what we were getting into," Clint Barton said firmly.

"Yeah, you told me from the start we were outside the law," Scott Lang confirmed. "I've been there before. I knew the risks."

Sam Wilson just shrugged. "I still believe you were right."

"I think you should can the pity party, Rogers," Natasha Romanoff said. "I signed, and I still chose you over the Accords when push came to shove. I'm a big girl. I knew what I was doing when I tased the Black Panther. No offense, your majesty," she said with a smirk.

"None taken," the king answered with a smile. "Knowing what I know now, perhaps I would tase myself. Do you truly regret not signing?" he asked Steve.

Steve thought about it, then shook his head. "No. The last time I had oversight, I ended up with Insight. That's why I have trust issues," he said, giving Natasha a wink. She and Sam both smiled.

"I can't believe Stark went for it," Natasha said in disgust. "Talk about trust issues! The man has trust issues coming out of his ears!"

"I was surprised you signed," Clint told his longtime partner.

Natasha dropped her eyes. "Well," she sighed. "I could see the Accords were a fait accompli, with or without me signing. I thought maybe I could keep one hand on the steering wheel, but I was wrong. Maybe if Tony hadn't signed, we could have held strong together, but the man who told the Senate to take a hike, was the first to sign."

"He let his guilt control him," Wanda Maximoff said quietly. "I did not try to read anyone's thoughts, but everyone was so upset, you projected at me. I sensed Stark's fear, his overwhelming guilt, and his pain was multiplied because Ms. Potts had left him. He wanted to not be in charge any more. He wanted to hand over responsibility to someone else. He was … tired and sick at heart."

"I wasn't in a good place, either," Steve confessed sadly. "I'd just lost Peggy. I couldn't … I couldn't lose Bucky, too. He was all I had left."

Sam nudged Steve with a sharp elbow. "Hey, what are we, chopped liver?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood and receiving a warm smile from Steve in return.

"You're a good friend, Sam. You all are. I regret dragging you all down with me." Steve sighed. "Maybe I should have signed. I almost did," he confessed. "After I failed to protect Bucky, after we were arrested, Tony almost talked me into signing, to make Sam's actions and mine retroactively legal. I was this close." He held up two fingers with hardly a hair's worth of space between them. "And then he told me he had Wanda under house arrest. She hadn't refused to sign. She hadn't taken any illegal actions, but still she was too dangerous to allow loose. I could see that those of us who were enhanced would be virtual prisoners under the Accords. It would have been concentration camps and internment camps all over again. I couldn't give Captain America's approval to that."

Wanda sighed. "I would have signed if you signed," she confessed. "Because I trust you far more than I will ever trust Tony Stark."

"Still holding a grudge?" Sam asked neutrally, in a nonjudgmental tone of voice.

Wanda made a face at him, recognizing Counselor Sam.

"No, I no longer blame him for what his weapons did to my parents — because I know now that was Obadiah Stane's doing, not his. I do not trust Tony Stark because he is driven by his demons. He sincerely believed that the Accords were the right path, but he believed the same thing about Ultron."

"Do you still hate him?" Clint asked.

"No, I understand him better now. I feel his pain and I am ashamed that I contributed to it. I found the place where his mind was fragile and I used it against him. Against all the Avengers. The thing he feared most was losing all his friends — and now he has."

Everyone was sadly silent, remembering moments of friendship with Tony Stark.

"He hasn't lost us. He's just mislaid us for awhile," Sam offered in encouraging tones.

"I think you all blame yourselves for too much," T'Challa said thoughtfully. "This may be destiny at work — with assistance from Baron Zemo."

"How do you mean?" Clint asked.

"The Avengers' success led to this," T'Challa said, waving his hand at the group. "Zemo hated the Avengers for the loss of his family in Sokovia. And he had the training to bring his vengeance to life."

"He said he had been studying us," Steve said. "He knew Tony would support me if I really needed help, despite the Accords. He knew the Winter Soldier had killed Tony's parents. He knew Tony would hate him for it. And he knew I would protect Bucky, even if it meant fighting Tony. He knew just how far our friendships would stretch."

"He knew you had two touchstones from your past, Peggy Carter and Bucky Barnes. Carter's funeral on the day the Accords were signed was fortuitous for him, but he probably knew she was failing. He knew you would protect your old friend Barnes — whether you signed the Accords or not!" T'Challa said with deep significance. "Whether you signed or not, you would have protected Barnes and been in violation of the Accords. It is your nature to protect."

"If I'd signed, maybe they would have let me try to bring Bucky in," Steve argued, just to see where T'Challa was going.

Natasha immediately shook her head. "They would have thought you were too close."

"And if you had persuaded him to surrender, that would not have stopped me from seeking revenge," T'Challa said. "But with or without our battle in the tunnels, we still would have ended up at the headquarters."

"Where Zemo was waiting," Natasha said. "And when Barnes broke out, you wouldn't have been able to stop yourself from helping him."

"So we would have ended up in conflict again," Steve realized.

Clint nodded. "And if everyone had listened when you told them about more Winter Soldiers in Siberia. Then all the Avengers would have gone to Siberia."

"And when Tony found out about his parents, he would have attacked with deadly force, unlike at the airport," Natasha said.

"Avengers would have died," Wanda said, swallowing the desire to vomit.

"Which would have pleased Zemo mightily," T'Challa said grimly.

"So, really, by getting captured and put in prison, we actually foiled the bad guy's scheme?" Scott asked, rhetorically and sardonically. "Yay, us."

"We did foil him," Sam insisted. "We're all alive and we're all free. The Avengers exist, even if we are scattered. So you can stop blaming yourself, Steve," he finished firmly.

"This isn't on you and it isn't on Stark," Natasha said.

"The Avengers created jealousy and fear and hate, through no fault of their own," T'Challa said.

"Some fault," Wanda corrected in a quiet voice.

"Small fault of their own," T'Challa amended. "Baron Zemo is just a single example of world opinion. Fear, envy, anger led to the creation of the Accords. Men of power cannot stand to see people with more power than they have. And so they created the Accords to bring that power under their control. I believe my father hoped to be a moderating influence when the details of oversight were worked out.

"The longer I ponder this, the more certain I am that, whether you signed or not, it was inevitable that you would run afoul of the Accords. None of you could stand idly by when danger or injustice threatened. You would act, and, signee or not, you would violate the Accords. You proved that, Agent Romanoff."

"And Tony, too," Steve realized. Tony had gone to Siberia to help, without Ross' authorization.

"And even you, your majesty," Natasha said.

"Even I."

Sharon Carter chuckled. "I wasn't even asked to sign and I'm still a fugitive," she pointed out. "T'Challa's right. Signing or not signing made no difference."

"So we were doomed, because we were heroes," Sam said, including Sharon in the sweep of his hand.

"Not doomed," T'Challa corrected. "One hundred and seventeen countries were afraid and Baron Zemo hated. These enemies have brought the Avengers low, but have not destroyed them."

"When the world needs us, we will be there," Steve vowed.

"But will they want us?" Clint sighed. "What's the opposite of hero-worship, anyway?"

* * *

 _A/N: I know this has been featuring Team Cap a lot, but I'm working on some heavy Tony angst, too. I'm an equal opportunity angster._


	10. Balm

_A/N: Tony angst as promised. Takes place at approximately the same time as the previous chapter, but on the other side of the world._

* * *

 _ **There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole,  
**_ _ **There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.**_

* * *

 **Balm**

Tony Stark was alone in the Avengers facility in upstate New York. Vision was drifting — literally drifting — somewhere he could find privacy to brood.

James Rhodes was at a VA hospital for additional surgery. He had forbidden Tony from coming along.

"Your fretting makes me tired and your pacing makes me jealous," Rhodey said with friendly chiding.

That left Tony alone, with too many thoughts on his mind. He tried to keep his hands busy with minor repair projects and tinkering, but none of that could stop his thoughts galloping on a treadmill of regret and self-recrimination.

* * *

He must have been running a fever. That's the only way he could account for his bizarre behavior — bizarre even for him.

He took an underage high school kid away from his homework to fight against the Avengers. The Avengers!

What was he thinking! Admittedly, he'd known — he'd been pretty sure — he'd been almost sure — that the rogue Avengers were not murderous types. They wouldn't try to kill the kid, just disable him (if they could). (A traitorous thought reminded him that he also had believed the Winter Soldier was a stone cold killer. And Peter had gone against Barnes and Wilson at the same time.) When the kid had crashed to the ground, Tony had suddenly recognized the horror of what he'd done. Thank god, Peter had been all right. Thank god, Tony had been able to send the kid home before any further violence happened. But what if he'd been killed? How would he have explained it to Aunt May.

Tony shuddered and put his aching head in his greasy hands. He felt like he had a hangover, and he hadn't touched a drop of anything stronger than orange juice in a week.

Seriously, what had he been thinking?

And, for that matter, what had Cap been thinking? Fighting against the will of 117 countries to protect a Hydra assassin.

That traitorous internal voice said Tony would do as much for Rhodey or Pepper.

Tony groaned. Why was he trying to fool himself? He knew what was driving Rogers, the same thing that was driving him — guilt!

Tony's guilt for a mother's dead kid, for all the dead kids and dead mothers. Steve's guilt for letting his best friend fall to his death. (Boy, Tony knew exactly how that felt now!)

Neither of them wanted to fail as protectors again. And they were so driven by their demons, that they spectacularly failed to protect anyone. They couldn't even protect their own.

Tony still thought the Avengers needed oversight, but even he ended up on Cap's side when he saw that Ross wouldn't listen to reason.

Tony had had good intentions. But all his good intentions seemed to go wrong — see Ultron. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Tony's good intentions.

* * *

"Tony?"

Tony Stark's head snapped around when he heard the familiar female voice. He didn't expect anyone but Vision and Rhodey in the empty mausoleum that had been the new Avengers headquarters.

He certainly hadn't expected Pepper Potts, who had only set foot in the facility once and who was "taking a break" from dating Tony.

Yet here she was, walking toward him, carrying a small overnight bag. Her high heels clicked on the tile.

"Watch out for the hole!" Tony called quickly, though you could hardly miss it.

Pepper craned her neck to look down eight stories to the android-shaped crater in the floor of the basement parking garage.

"Wow!" she commented. "I thought the dent Hulk made with Loki was impressive."

"Yeah, Maximoff is an overachiever," Tony agreed. "To be fair, it takes an overachievement to keep Vision down."

Pepper cautiously circled the hole and approached Tony in the kitchen. She looked neat and unwrinkled. Only one strand of hair escaping from her bun indicated she was at the end of a long day.

Tony felt suddenly ashamed, wearing a torn, stained band shirt and disassembling a greasy fuel injector on the kitchen table. (Hey, he remembered to put newspapers down!)

Pepper didn't comment on the mess by word or expression. She kissed the one clean spot on Tony's forehead, then pulled a kitchen chair close.

"You look tired," she said.

"Not sleeping much," Tony admitted. "Rhodey call you?"

"He's worried about you. So am I."

Tony couldn't help looking a little doubtful.

Pepper smiled and rested her beautifully manicured fingers on the back of his grease-stained hand. "I never stopped caring, Tony," she informed him. Her mouth twisted wryly. "I'm beginning to think I care too much. Now go get cleaned up and I'll make you something to eat. What do you think about an omelet?" They both grinned at the private joke.

Feeling better already, Tony went to shower and change with a lighter step than he'd shown since before Lagos, before Ultron, really.

When he returned, his stomach growled at the aroma of bacon and coffee. Pepper set a bowl of fruit and two plates with picture-perfect cheese omelets (well, maybe they were a little too brown) on the table, pushing the newspaper and fuel injector into a corner. The two ate in companionable silence.

When they finished, Tony took Pepper back to his quarters, safely away from the hole in the floor and from any nosy teammates who might show up.

They sat together on a comfy couch. Pepper rested her head on Tony's shoulder and said, "Now tell me."

* * *

He told her everything, not sparing himself or Cap or any of the others. He told her the truth as he knew it, trying to make clear which were observable facts and which were his opinions and emotions. He even told her about the super secret message from Steve. He hadn't even told Rhodey about that, yet.

Tony rubbed his eyes and leaned back. "I know it's ridiculous, but I feel like it's all my fault."

"That's because it is your fault, Tony," Pepper said, her voice growing more vicious and spiteful with each word and Tony cowered before her fury. "You're supposed to be a genius, but you screw up spectacularly. You destroy more than you save. You drive everyone away. The only friends you have are the ones you build yourself! In fact, the world would be better off without you."

A knife appeared in Pepper's hand and she drove it toward his heart.

Tony awoke, gasping, clutching his chest, which ached in a way that was becoming too familiar. He was alone on the couch in his quarters. For a long, miserable minute, he thought he'd dreamed the whole thing, from Pepper's visit through the demonic Pepper stabbing him, but then she walked out of the bathroom, tying her hair up in a ponytail. She had changed to slippers and a nightgown — not a sexy nightgown, worse luck, but mid-calf gown styled like an oversized T-shirt.

"What's wrong?" she asked quickly, when she saw his expression. "Nightmare?"

Tony nodded numbly.

"A bad one? You've only been asleep for ten minutes."

"Not as bad as the one where Cap slices off my head, says 'you wanted to see my dark side' and then kicks my head across the room like a soccer ball," Tony replied. "Though the worst one is when I blast Steve with full repulsors and he sort of melts, but he keeps coming after me like a movie monster."

"Why's that the worst?"

"Because I almost did it. I almost took his head off, except Barnes distracted me."

"What was tonight's nightmare about," Pepper asked. She encouraged him to tell her about it, then she shook her head decisively. "Ultron was not all your fault," she said. "You had no reason to think that this intelligence would wake up with a murderous personality."

"Except that it was in the scepter, which was used to kill and subjugate people," Tony said sadly. "Loki used it. Hydra used it. No wonder it was mean." He'd had a lot of time to dwell on where he went wrong.

Pepper decided not to pursue this line of guilt. "And the breakup of the Avengers was not all your fault either. Seems like every Avenger played a part and Secretary Ross played the biggest part. That man has a bigger ego than you do."

Tony chuckled as she'd intended.

"And Steve!" Pepper exclaimed. "I never knew he was such a loose cannon." She tsked to herself.

"I thought he was my friend," Tony said plaintively.

"I'm sure he thought you were his friend, too." There was an odd note in Pepper's voice that made Tony look a question at her.

"Tony," she said kindly. "You blindsided the Avengers by bringing Ross here unannounced. You could have at least called to give them a heads up. Why didn't you?"

"I knew Cap wouldn't go for it," Tony mumbled.

"Why not? He was a soldier. He knows chain of command."

Tony snorted. "Believe it or not, there was a time, when I was small, when I loved to hear my father's stories about Captain America. You wouldn't believe how many started with ... 'The generals said don't do it, but Cap did it anyway and rescued everyone/destroyed the base...' And, even in this time, Natasha said Cap was the only one who could yell at Fury in Fury's own office."

Tony's thoughts sidetracked. "You know, I think I understand my Dad better now. The reason he couldn't stop looking for Cap was because he felt guilty. He was the genius, the man who figured things out, but he never figured out what happened to his friend. He made great discoveries, but he couldn't find Cap's body. He was driven by guilt. I understand that now."

"Because you're the same way," Pepper said quietly.

"Yeah. Stark men are made of guilt. Anyway, as I was saying, the first Captain America exploit, when he rescued the prisoners from the Red Skull?"

Pepper nodded. Everyone learned about that mission in school.

"He went against orders to rescue his friend Barnes and everyone else he could find."

"Against orders!"

"Yeah, Peggy Carter got my Dad to fly him into enemy territory. I doubt she even had to bat her eyes at him. Dad was always up for a dare in his younger days. Cap parachuted in all alone with no real plan — and he saved the day."

"Because of Barnes?" Pepper asked.

"Yeah, so I should have known he'd do what he thought was right, no matter what the Accords said. Heck, he told me so himself. And when Barnes was accused of bombing the UN, I should have known he'd do anything to help his pal."

Pepper nodded.

"It's so ironic, that I was trying to follow the law, but it turns out everyone trusts Steve a lot more than they trust me. Everyone left my side — the legal side! — and went over to Steve. The only ones left are Rhodey, who really can't go anywhere else right now, and Vision. Pretty much the only friends I have are the ones I make myself," he said glumly, repeating the words from his nightmare. (They were his thoughts, after all.)

Pepper gave him a one-armed hug. "Tony. It's not you they didn't trust. It was Ross," she pointed out. "Even you chose to believe Steve over Ross when push came to shove."

Tony grimaced, but it was the truth. Even after everything, he'd believe Steve and trust Steve over Ross.

"I still don't understand how the Accord situation got away from you," Pepper said. "I thought you were the Avengers outside man, the one who kept up on the political and economic aspects of the hero business."

It was part of the reason or their breakup, because, even if he wasn't involved with the Avengers day-to-day, he still spent all his time working on Avengers projects and equipment upgrades. (Sam Wilson had been over the moon about his drone.)

"The talk in the UN started after Sokovia. I was keeping an eye on it, but it takes years for the UN to get anything done, usually. There didn't seem to be any hurry. Then I got distracted by my psychotherapy program and we ..." Broke up seemed so high school, but split up seemed so permanent. Pepper nodded to show she understood and Tony continued. "Then Lagos happened and suddenly people were lining up to sign the Accords. King T'Chaka really knew how to cut through red tape and get things moving."

"But the Accords were really rough, unfinished," Pepper said, because she'd read them now. "For one thing, they put too much power in the hands of the designated implementer."

"Which turned out to be Ross with all his bigotry and arrogance and lust for power." Tony sighed. "By the time I realized what was happening, nearly 100 nations were on board and Ross was calling me about meeting with the Avengers."

"You still could have warned Steve," Pepper pointed out.

"I thought, if I could just talked to him, I could make him see that it was a done deal and we needed to stick together so we could get the Accords amended. Like Natasha said, keep one hand on the steering wheel. But Ross was pushing for an immediate answer, and then Steve got the call about Peggy Carter's death ..."

Pepper said, "Which meant Steve was in a bad place, just like you, and not thinking clearly ..."

"Just like me," Tony admitted.

"So on the day of Peggy Carter's funeral, they accuse his best friend of bombing the UN and put out a kill order."

"Yeah, there's no way Cap could stand for that," Tony admitted, picturing Pepper's funeral and Rhodey accused of murder.

"So things got out of hand. In a very big, very public way."

"Very big. Very public," Tony agreed. "And then there was evidence that Barnes hadn't bombed the UN, and Ross wouldn't listen at all," Tony complained. "He just wanted all the Avengers under his control, either working for him or locked up on the Raft."

"Or dead."

"Or dead," Tony agreed.

"So you went to help Steve, but you found out the enemy he was after had been killed by Zemo, who showed you pictures of your parents being murdered by the Winter Soldier."

"I wanted to kill Barnes," Tony growled. "I still wouldn't mind seeing him dead," he admitted. But Steve kept getting in the middle. He fought me to protect Barnes and I tried not to hurt him at first, but I was in a rage and Cap kept frustrating me. I think … I'm afraid … at the end, I almost blew his head off. He didn't tell me Hydra killed my parents and he's known that for two years. He chose Barnes over me, over the law, over justice and everything. And it hurts."

Looking at the situation from the outside, Pepper saw something different.

"What if the situation had been reversed?" she asked. "What if Barnes was still the Winter Soldier and was attacking you, trying to kill you. What would Steve have done?"

Tony felt a great weight lift off his heart. He even stopped massaging his chest. "He would have done the same thing, stood between us, trying to protect me while not hurting Barnes," he said and knew it was true.

"Steve isn't your enemy," Pepper agreed. "Is Barnes?"

She was surprised when Tony hesitated. "Romanoff sent me some notebooks. Barnes' notebooks. When he was trying to recover his memories, he wrote down everything he remembered. It's random, the scent of cinnamon and apples reminded him of the apple pies Steve's mother baked. A wind chime brings back a memory of Christmas bells. He comes back to dad now and then. He remembered Howard improving his rifle sight, which helped Barnes save Steve from a sniper within a week. He remembered Dad paying an exorbitant sum for a cake that he shared with the Howling Commandos. He had some funny stories from the war, and then there's horror when he remembers killing Howard, when he remembers Howard recognizing him. The ink is smudged by water drops."

"Tear stains?" Pepper asked gently.

Tony nodded. "The books are filled with memories of torture, of having his memory erased, of being sent to kill Steve. It's sad. It's even horrifying. I can pity him but I don't know if I can forgive him. He killed my Mom, Pep. He killed my Mom!" Tony put his face against Pepper's shoulder and wept.

* * *

 _A/N: I don't know what the MCU has in mind, but the heart attack symptoms Tony joked about in Civil War are also symptoms of anxiety._


	11. Decisions

**Decisions**

It was time to decide where all the wanted fugitives would go. Steve Rogers gathered his team along with the new, or, depending on their preferences, honorary Avengers — T'Challa, Scott Lang and Sharon Carter.

"You are all welcome to remain here in sanctuary," T'Challa assured them. "Or I will see you transported safely to wherever you want to go."

"Thank you, your majesty."

"Please, Steve," T'Challa chided. "We are all friends here."

"Thank you, T'Challa," Steve amended. "We appreciate your hospitality, but I know some of us have homes to go to."

Not him. He hadn't had a place of his own since the Winter Soldier shot it up. He hadn't had a real home since Bucky went into the army.

"Where does everyone want to go?" Steve asked his friends.

"Wherever you're going," Sam Wilson said with certainty. He'd hitched his wagon to Cap's star and he wasn't about to abandon his friend now, with Bucky back in the freezer and Tony Stark still, maybe, on the rampage. Steve needed a friend more than ever. But Sam didn't say that, he said, "You get into too much trouble without someone to look after you. Since Barnes can't do it, I will."

"What he said," Sharon said bravely, though she was afraid of what people would think. She wanted to stay with Steve, too. She didn't want to come across as a wannabe girlfriend, but she believed in Steve. Not just Cap, but Steve, that slightly geeky guy who didn't know how to ask a pretty neighbor out, the hero who called a strike on the helicarrier where he was already gravely wounded, the man who stood by his friend, even when Barnes tried to kill him twice. It wasn't that Steve was brave or handsome — though Sharon wasn't blind to those qualities — but he was a good man. As a spy, Sharon hadn't met many good men. It was very attractive.

Natasha patted Sharon's knee. "You'd better keep her, Steve. She's sneakier than you and Wilson put together."

"Better looking, too," Clint broke in with a wink.

"And she can go places you guys can't," Natasha finished. "You can use her, whatever you're planning to do."

Sharon was very relieved that Natasha had given her blessing and no one was leering at her with suggestive looks.

"Clint?" Steve asked.

"I'm going home. The farm still seems to be safe and I still need to take my kids waterskiing," Clint said. "I think Wanda should come with me."

Everyone knew Clint felt protective of Wanda, whose twin brother had died saving Clint's life.

"What? Why?" asked Wanda Maximoff, who had been about to volunteer to stay with Steve, too.

"You need time to recover from your mistreatment," Natasha said bluntly.

"And you could use a little normal, I think," Clint said. "My kids are dying to meet you. They don't think you're scary. They think you're cool. When you've recuperated, you and I can train together to keep in shape for when Steve calls us. Because the call always comes."

"Thor thought something was coming, something big," Steve confirmed. "We need to be ready, whether the world trusts us or not."

"And your family would welcome me?" Wanda said hesitantly. She'd lost a lot of confidence after Lagos and was hurt by Vision trying to keep her prisoner. She needed a rest, mentally and physically.

"With open arms," Clint assured her.

"Then I will go with Clint," she agreed.

"What about you?" Clint asked his longtime partner. "There's always room for Auntie Nat."

Natasha hesitated. "Maybe I'll start there," she agreed. "But I think I need to find Bruce. He needs to know what's happened and ... he and I have things to discuss."

"You might run into Stark," Sam warned.

Natasha shook her head. "Stark can be an ass, but not ass enough to lead Thaddeus Ross to Bruce Banner. Ross would lock Bruce in a cage so fast your head would spin. Well," she gave a knowing smirk, "He'd try to."

"Scott?" Steve turned to the new guy. "I know you want to go home. Think it's safe?"

"Not to go back to my apartment," Scott admitted. "But I think I know a place."

"Dr. Pym?" Natasha asked. "Someone might remember you said his name," she warned.

Scott shrugged. "We have that worked out. I'm just an ex-con he feels sorry for, so he uses me for some electronics projects. He won't be surprised I've been led astray again by unsavory companions," Scott said piously, drawing boos. "He'll just shake his head sadly when he finds out I couldn't stay out of jail."

"And what will he really think?" Sam asked with a smile.

"He'll be mad that I got caught. He'll be furious that the government got their hands on the suit." Scott shuddered. "But he respected Peggy Carter and hated Howard Stark, so he'll figure I picked the right side of this battle. He'll hide me. I'm pretty good at hiding," Ant-Man finished with a smirk. But he didn't really look happy.

"What about your daughter?" Clint asked perceptively.

"She'll understand." Scott chuckled. "She'll be over the moon about Giant-Man stomping all over the airport."

"You won't get much chance to see her," Natasha said quietly.

"Good at sneaking, remember?"

"Then what's wrong?" Sam asked.

"My ex's fiancé is a cop," Scott said. "He covered for me with the Pym Technologies business. That nut Cross threatened my daughter Cassie and, one thing I'll say about Paxton, he loves my daughter almost as much as I do."

"But now you're an internationally wanted fugitive. You think he might try to take you in?" Wanda asked, sensing turbulence in Scott's thoughts.

"I really don't know," Scott answered. "He's not a big fan of politics interfering with police work. I guess I'll just have to see."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Steve asked.

Scott brightened, "Since you asked, yeah …"

After Steve agreed to supply Scott's request, Sam said, "Now we know what everyone else is going to do, what about us, Steve?" His gesture took in himself, Sharon and Steve.

Steve sighed. "We're staying here awhile. T'Challa was kind enough to offer to train with me. I need to practice fighting without using my shield." He shook his head at himself. "One of the guards at the Raft got off a shot. I put my hand up to block, as if I still had the shield. It was just luck the bullet ricocheted off the crowbar."

Sam privately doubted it was luck. It was Super Soldier reflexes using the tool he had in hand.

"Maybe I should stick around for a few," Natasha said thoughtfully. "Always happy to use you as a punching bag, Rogers."

"Don't worry, Natasha," Sharon offered. "Sam and I will be glad to help beat on Steve until he breaks his bad habits."

"With friends like you guys, who needs enemies," Steve joked. "Then it's settled. As soon as we can arrange transportation, we will go our separate ways. We'll keep in training. We'll do good deeds in secret. But we'll keep in touch and when the world needs us, we'll be ready," he vowed.

"Aunt Peggy was right, you are awfully dramatic," Sharon said, making everyone laugh.

* * *

 _A/N: Apologies to those of you who don't like the movies' romantic pairings, but I'm all about the canon. Don't worry. There won't be a lot of romance. Not really my thing._


	12. A Small Conversation

_A/N: T'Challa sends Scott home first, while the others help "train" Steve. This is purely an Ant-Man story, but it answers the question about what Scott asked Steve for in the previous chapter._

* * *

 **A Small Conversation**

Ant-size, Scott Lang sneaked into his daughter Cassie's bedroom. It was past 11 p.m. and the little girl's nightlight was the only light visible in the house.

Scott shot up to human size, almost stepping on a broken toy on the floor. He picked up the plastic toy airplane, which had been one of Cassie's favorite toys once upon a time. Now it looked like it had been stepped on repeatedly.

"She's been stomping on her toys every since she saw you do the giant act on the news," said a gruff male voice out of the darkness on the far side of the room.

Scott winced, then turned to see his ex-wife's fiancé, San Francisco Police Detective Jim Paxton.

"Sorry?" Scott said.

"I finally took away most of her toys and only left the soft ones — stuffed toys and foam rubber. Must have missed the airplane," Paxton said, coming into the light.

Scott sighed and sank to his haunches on the floor. "There I am, setting a bad example again."

"I don't know, you were fighting alongside the Avengers." Paxton sounded just a trifle starry-eyed.

"Fighting against Avengers, too," Scott pointed out to be fair.

"True, but you were with Captain America!"

"So, you're not going to arrest me?" Scott asked hopefully.

Paxton pointedly looked at Scott's thumb poised over the shrink button. "We both know how that would go. Besides," Paxton shrugged. "Leipzig's not in my jurisdiction. And no one's actually asked the SFPD to get involved." He nodded at the sleeping child. "Go, say Hi to your daughter. Try not to keep her up too long. Then you and I need to talk."

Scott nodded acceptance and sat on the edge of Cassie's bed, stroking her hair and whispering to her until her eyes opened. She sat up so suddenly, they almost bonked heads.

"Daddy! You got home!" she cried, throwing her arms around him.

"I'll always come home to you, peanut," Scott assured her.

Cassie pulled back, eyes wide. "Daddy, you got huge!"

"Yeah, I did," Scott said proudly.

"That was so cool! Now all the kids at school know my daddy's a superhero!"

"And a jailbird," Paxton jabbed.

"They already knew that," Cassie pointed out.

"True," Paxton agreed.

Scott rolled his eyes.

Cassie prattled about the battle, concentrating on his giant deeds, because no one could see his ant-sized heroics. She also thought Falcon's wings were cool and she wanted to be Scarlet Witch when she grew up.

God forbid, Scott thought.

Scott deftly turned her nonstop chatter to what she had been up to since he left — an A on her geography quiz, when she correctly identified Germany on a map, and a dance recital where she tripped once, but (mortal enemy) Bethany fell all the way on her bottom. Cassie covered a giggle at the memory.

The girl wound down quickly, because it was well past her usual bedtime. She blinked sleepily, then threw her arms around her father. "I'm glad you're home," she said into his chest. "Can you stay?"

"Not here," Scott answered hastily, seeing Paxton's alarm. "But I'll come visit."

They both looked at Paxton who nodded reassurance. "We'll work something out. A play date or something."

"It wasn't nice for Captain America to run away and leave you behind." Cassie sounded troubled.

Scott hastened to redeem his leader in the eyes of his daughter. "That was the plan, peanut," he explained. "Cap and Mr. Barnes needed to stop some really bad people. The rest of us had to buy time for them to get away. So we did."

"Did they stop those bad guys?"

"Yes, they did." Scott was not going to explain to his child how sideways that mission had gone (so sideways it was upside down!) "Yes, they stopped the bad guys, and then Cap came back and broke us out of jail, because he's nice like that."

"OK," Cassie accepted. "Why didn't Iron Man want to stop the bad guys, too?"

"Oh, he did," Scott assured her. "But he thought Mr. Barnes was the bad guy. That's why he wanted to stop Cap and the rest of us."

"So you were fighting because of a mistake?"

"Pretty much."

"Like when Susie was mad at Meredith for taking her headband, but really Susie had lost hers and Meredith just had the same kind." Paxton said, referring to the great scandal of second grade. "And everybody took sides, and Susie and Meredith were enemies for a month, until the janitor found the missing headband way back under a bookcase. Now the girls are best friends," Paxton explained to Scott.

"Yeah, a lot like that," Scott had to admit.

"But they put you in jail. They didn't put Susie or Meredith in jail!"

"Peanut, that's the problem with being a grownup. Our mistakes are grown up, too."

Cassie thought for a moment. "Will Iron Man and Captain America be best friends again someday?"

Scott hugged her. "I hope so, peanut."

He persuaded Cassie to close her eyes, and soon she was asleep. Her hand went lax and he was able to slip his fingers from hers.

Paxton tipped his head toward the far side of the room and the two men took seats at the tea party table, displacing a large teddy bear and Cassie's school backpack.

"I brought something for you," Scott said.

"A bribe, Lang?" Paxton growled, but with a smile.

"A 'thank you,'" Scott corrected. He pulled a thin cardboard folder from inside his suit. When Paxton opened it he found an autographed photo of Captain America. The front was signed "Captain America" and the back held an inscription: "Paxton, Any friend of Scott's is a friend of mine. Steve Rogers."

Paxton was as dumbstruck as Steve had been when he found out Natasha, Sharon, Clint AND Sam all knew how to access his PR photos. After Scott made his request, the four had argued for 15 minutes before settling on a good, non-cheesy Cap photo. T'Challa had it printed on high quality, long-lasting photo stock for Scott to take home.

Scott started to get nervous when Paxton just stared at it. "You wouldn't want to hang it on the wall right now," he suggested.

The officer still didn't say anything.

"You can get it authenticated. The market's probably in a pit right now, but these things go in cycles, according to Antiques Roadshow."

"I don't care what it's worth," Paxton interrupted hoarsely. "I'd never sell it. Cap was my hero as a kid. He inspired me to become a cop so I could help people."

"I remember," Scott said quietly.

"Is he … what's he like?" Paxton asked.

"Not as tall as you'd expect, but nice. We didn't have much time to chat," Scott said regretfully. "It was all business and fighting pretty quick. He did come back and break us all out of jail, which was nice."

"Not so nice for us," Paxton pointed out, but not as if he were actually angry. "Those stuffed suits from the task force have been here six times, pestering Maggie and Cassie." Paxton scowled. "They tried to question Cassie on her way home from school."

Scott looked alarmed. "Is she OK?"

Paxton chuckled. "Didn't bother her. She prattled on about how great you are. She's very happy she doesn't have to keep it a secret any more than her father is Ant-Man. I, on the other hand, was furious. I happened to be cruising past, to make sure she was OK …"

Scott hid a grin. The thing he liked most about Paxton was how protective he was of Cassie.

"I saw this guy pestering her, so I slammed him against my car and handcuffed him and took him to the station."

Scott laughed out loud — though quietly. "Didn't he show you a badge?"

"Sure, and I recognized him from when he came here the first time. But I made his boss come and bail him out and read them both the riot act about questioning little girls without their parents present."

"You're a good man, Paxton."

"Well …" The detective never knew how to take compliments gracefully. "Anyway, we've had feds and international cops and who knows what coming around, but none of them have bothered to liaise with SFPD, maybe because I'm involved. So patrol cars keep coming by to chase away their stakeouts."

"Cops make a lot of enemies," Scott said solemnly, nodding. "You can't be too careful."

"Exactly," Paxton said, grinning at the bullshit they were feeding the feds. Which the feds knew was bullshit, but what could they do?

"What did Maggie say?" Scott asked with trepidation.

"The feds seemed to think you'd show up here. Maggie said you wouldn't dare show your face. She said you were an asshat, but not asshat enough to put your daughter in danger,' Paxton said. "Then she told them we'd call if you showed up."

Scott was crestfallen. "She did?"

"Yeah, but the corner of her right eye twitched when she said it," Paxton said with a knowing grin.

Scott looked happier. "So she was lying."

"Yeah," Paxton agreed. "Of course, it didn't twitch when she said you were an asshat."

"I didn't expect it to," Scott said ruefully. "So I take it you're not to going to turn me in?"

Paxton scowled, and not at Scott. "I saw the Secretary of State waving the Sokovia Accords document while he was ranting about the Avengers on TV. It was two inches thick. Two inches of paperwork! Two inches of agendas," the police detective said darkly. "I know agendas. You try to investigate a crime, but the city council wants one thing and the Port Authority wants something else, and the mayor just wants to keep the Nob Hill voters happy." Paxton shook his head. "When there are too many fingers in the pie, nothing gets done."

"The case ends up half-baked," Scott joked.

Paxton snorted. "So those Accords. You've got 117 countries that signed it. That's 117 agendas preventing the cops, I mean, the Avengers from getting anything done. We get another alien invasion and we'd be up to our hips in Chitauri before the Avengers could act." Paxton's voice grew more emphatic, but he kept the volume down.

"It's no wonder Captain America didn't go along. Look what happened when he worked for SHIELD — flying Hydra death machines!" Paxton shook his head.

"Everyone's talking about the damage the Avengers do and the people who died. I'm a cop. I know you can't always save everyone." He sighed. "Look, I've got two reprimands on my record. One, I was young. I followed procedures to the letter and a kid, a bystander, got hurt. I got reprimanded for not getting the kid out of harm's way. The second time, I said to hell with procedures and saved a woman from an abusive boyfriend. So I got reprimanded for not following procedures! That's the way it is when you're a cop. If you're not perfect, everybody complains. And, guess what, nobody's perfect."

Scott was much relieved to realize that Paxton identified with the Avengers. He saw the heroes as fellow law enforcement officers, fighting city hall. And the Sokovia Accords were city hall times 117.

"People died in Sokovia, but as near as I can tell, the Avengers saved the rest of the ungrateful planet. They're still heroes in my book. And I can't believe you got to meet them," Paxton said enviously.

"So you don't think I made the wrong choice?"

"You went to help Captain America! I'd have gone to help Captain America, if I had an incredible shrinking suit."

"I got to ride on Cap's shield and one of Hawkeye's arrows," Scott bragged.

Paxton sat forward. "Tell me more."

Scott gave some details from the fight, careful not to give away anyone's secrets.

"That's incredibly cool," the detective sighed. "Never thought you had it in you," he said dryly.

"Thanks, pal," Scott returned with mild sarcasm. "I'd better go," he said.

"Come back next Tuesday for dinner," Paxton suggested. "Maggie will want to bawl you out and we can figure out a schedule for you to see Cassie."

"Can't wait," Scott said dryly.

As Scott turned toward the window, the detective stopped him.

"Lang, you got a place to stay?" Paxton asked. He actually sounded worried.

Thinking of Hank Pym's lavish old-fashioned estate, Scott answered, "Sure, a super secret superhero hideout."

"That's not a cardboard box under a bridge, is it?"

"No," Scott assured him, then he winked. "But it is crawling with ants."


	13. Olympian Achievement

_A/N: I had other stories finished, but the Rio Olympics have possessed my brain, so I scrambled to get this together._

 **Olympian Achievement**

Carrying a laptop under his arm, Clint Barton was on his way to his room when he noticed T'Challa transfixed by the television in community room assigned to the Avengers refugees.

It wasn't uncommon to see the new king enjoying the relative solitude of the Avengers' wing, but Clint had never seen him turn on the television. Of course, this was the Olympics.

"I don't remember seeing Wakanda in the parade of nations," Clint commented, vaulting the back of the couch and plopping down next to T'Challa.

T'Challa smiled wistfully. "You know we have been a reclusive nation for most of our history. When my father began normalizing relations with the rest of the world, we had many things to consider. The International Olympics Committee was not a priority. But now, when I see this gathering of nations focused on sport, I wish my people were there."

"What sports would you compete in? I hear you outraced a motorcycle. I bet you'd be awesome at track."

T'Challa chuckled. "We have many excellent runners in Wakanda," he agreed. "We also have a tradition of warrior sports."

"So, wrestling, judo," Clint offered.

"Don't forget spear throwing," T'Challa said.

"Ooh, javelin. Nice choice," Clint said.

The king's eye was caught by the TV screen where a male gymnast dismounted from the rings with so many twists they were difficult to count, even in slow motion.

"You'd be good at that, too," Clint said.

"I have done some twists and somersaults in mid-air, but I have never put them in such an elaborate combination."

"Except when you pounced on Cap during training yesterday," Clint joked.

T'Challa remembered that the Super Soldier had tossed him clear across the training field. The Black Panther had tumbled end over end, but alighted on his feet.

"I did stick the landing," he agreed with a laugh.

T'Challa continued to watch the gymnastics, then realized Clint was more focused on his laptop than the TV.

"You are not interested in the Olympics? Or is gymnastics not to your taste?"

"I love gymnastics. Some of those moves have saved my life, but it's hard to watch two screens at once." Clint tapped his laptop.

"What are you watching, then?" T'Challa asked curiously.

Hawkeye laughed at him. "You had to ask?" He turned the screen so T'Challa could see the live streaming coverage of the men's archery competition.

"I should have known," the king agreed.

* * *

The Games inspired T'Challa to have a palace sports day, giving his guests a look at the traditional sports of Wakanda, including a form of martial arts that did indeed contain elements of wresting and judo. Sam Wilson happily competed in the unfamiliar discipline, laughing as watchers corrected his form and offered other tips. When the rules changed to a free for all, the Avenger held his own with strength and skill that drew shouts of approval (especially from the pretty girls).

Clint stood with the archers, scoring well with an unfamiliar Wakandan bow and then showing off his prowess with his custom weapon.

Natasha Romanoff and Sharon Carter taught a giggle of girls some tumbling and vaulting moves while Wanda Maximoff's magic cushioned every fall.

Steve Rogers obliged the crowd with some weightlifting — hoisting over his head a tree trunk with a dozen kids clinging to the stubs of branches.

Mostly, Steve was contented to watch the Wakandan spear play, sparring with war spears and throwing hunting spears. One elder offered Steve a heavy lion-hunting spear, giving instructions on how to throw it.

"Don't toss it like your shield, Cap," Clint heckled.

"It doesn't work the same way," Sharon agreed.

"I say there's a 50-50 chance," Sam said. "Either he'll throw it clear through the target or it'll hit sideways."

The Avengers laughed.

"Thanks, pal," Steve said sarcastically.

"I've got $20 that says he puts it through the target," Sam continued.

"That's better," Steve said.

"Only a $20?" Natasha jeered. "That doesn't show much confidence."

"Hey, I didn't get a paycheck in prison," Sam protested. "That's my last twenty!"

"That sounds like confidence to me," Wanda told Natasha.

"I'll take that bet," Clint told Sam.

"With friends like you guys, who needs enemies," Steve said. "Don't I even get a practice throw?"

"No!" the Avengers chorused.

Steve grumbled comically, making the watching children laugh. They began to cheer him on with a rhythmic chant and hand clapping.

The elder helped Steve with a last minute grip adjustment, then Steve jogged to the line and let fly. The spear flew, just a blur to mortal eyes. When they refocused on the target, it seemed Steve had missed entirely, because no one could see the spear.

Then the elder whooped and ran to the target. Just an inch of the haft protruded from near the center of the target. The rest of the spear had gone through the target and was buried out of sight in the hay bales behind.

The crowd roared approval. Sam held out his hand and Clint slapped a twenty in it, but he never stopped smiling.

* * *

"This was a good idea," Steve said later, when everyone was feasting while children played tag among the tables.

"In honor of the Olympics," Clint explained. "That's this sporting event where …" he teased.

Steve punched his arm lightly. "I know what the Olympics are. I watched every newsreel from 1932 and 1936."

"That was the Nazi Olympics, '36," Sam said with interest. "The Jesse Owens Olympics."

Steve nodded. "I saw Jesse Owens in person," he commented. Everyone stared, forcibly reminded how old Cap really was. "Bucky and I went to the tickertape parade in Manhattan. He was an amazing athlete. I admired him."

"Of course you did," Sam said. "He's the one who really punched Hitler in the nose."


	14. Retraining

**Retraining**

Steve Rogers shouldered aside a muscled adversary, trying to reach a more elusive enemy who jeered and vaulted aside easily. As Steve swerved, a sniper fired.

He raised his bare arm in an automatic and futile gesture of defense, but was struck twice in the side and, as he tried to dodge away, once in the temple. He dropped and lay unmoving.

"Steve!" the sniper and his adversaries called in alarm.

Steve groaned and rolled onto his back, as Natasha shook her head in displeasure, Sam Wilson ran forward and Sharon Carter dropped from concealment, still carrying her sniper rifle. It was only a paintball gun, but a paintball to the head was bound to hurt.

Steve had a large welt, visible despite the splash of red paint on the side of his face. His right side was drenched with red — paint, fortunately, not blood.

Steve groaned again. "I'm pathetic."

"I've seen better," Natasha Romanoff agreed.

Sam knelt beside his friend to check him. Satisfied the Super Soldier was only bruised, he clapped Steve's shoulder.

"It just takes awhile to unlearn habits," he offered consolation. "Cheer up. I know you know how to fight without using your shield. You kick my butt in training all the time."

Steve took Sam's outstretched hand and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. He swayed a bit, dizzy from the hard hit to the head. Sharon pushed close to his side, helping steady him until he regained his balance. He gave her a sweet smile of thanks that made her heart do somersaults. Natasha smirked at her and she made a face in return.

"That's one-on-one sparring," Steve said to Sam, missing the women's exchange. "When I get into a melee like this, I automatically bring my arm up, even though there's no shield to protect me."

"Instead of trying to erase Steve's habits, perhaps we can adapt them." T'Challa's warm voice made the four Avengers turn.

He entered the training room followed by an attendant who was carrying a large basket. The attendant clutched the basket, as if he expected T'Challa to try to carry it himself. The new king did too many things for himself. His staff was trying to teach him better.

Clint Barton followed the two Wakandans, smirking at the byplay.

The attendant set the basket on a wooden block that was part of the parkour course.

"Thank you," T'Challa said, dismissing the man.

The attendant bowed stiffly, then walked out, disapproval in every line.

"I am still more warrior than king," T'Challa said. "I am a sad disappointment to the palace staff."

"New king; new ways. They'll adapt," Sam said.

"You're the king, you can't be wrong," Sharon said. "Your behavior is kingly behavior."

T'Challa laughed. "Thank you. It is good to have friends."

"I think Steve needs a few more friends," Clint said, shaking his head at the "blood-stained" hero.

"I need fewer friends," Steve corrected, trying to wipe off the paint with a wet towel and merely smearing it.

Natasha clucked at his helplessness and used a cleanser to remove the paint from Steve's face, wiping with great care around his eyes. She didn't bother to clean his workout clothes, figuring the stain would serve as a reminder to be more careful.

"So, what's in the basket?" Sam asked.

"Clint had some suggestions about alternate weapons for Steve," T'Challa said.

They lifted out two tapering tubes, like gauntlets without the glove part.

"These are vambraces," explained Clint, the guy with a fetish for archaic weaponry. He latched them around Steve's forearms. "If you press here — wait 'til I get out of the way!" He retreated. "OK, now press."

Steve pressed and two-inch wings snapped out from the arm piece, making a V-shaped shield, with the point at the wrist. "There's one on each arm."

"Shields, but nothing like Cap's shield," Natasha said in approval.

"And then we have this," T'Challa held out a long, flexible tube with a collar. When fitted on Steve, the tube ran down his spine and ended at the small of his back. T'Challa guided his hand to feel the end of the tube and pull out a ball. It was about the size of a golf ball, but softer, with the give of a tennis ball. When Steve removed that one, a second dropped into place in the tube opening.

"We can attach this to a new uniform when you decide on a design," T'Challa said.

"If you don't like it down the back, we could put one on each hip with a spring-loaded delivery," Clint said. "That might actually be better," the archer mused.

"What are they for?" Sam asked.

"What's the other thing Steve does with his shield? They're to throw," Clint answered.

Taking that as a cue, Steve flicked his wrist and the ball ricocheted off two pieces of equipment before returning. It didn't quite make it as far as Steve's hand, but he scooped it up on a bounce. After two more throws to get the feel of the ball, Steve had it returning straight to his hand.

Clint studied the small dent left in a plaster wall. "We might want to make them a little softer," he decided. "I figured you'd want to knock people out with them, not crack people's skulls."

Steve squeezed the ball experimentally. "I just need to alter the force I put into the throw," he said. "Thanks, Clint."

"My pleasure, Steve. I don't want to see your new alter ego killed on his first outing."

"That's not going to happen," Natasha said. "Unless you don't keep training." She flew at Steve, catching him around the neck and using her entire bodyweight to flip him backwards. He went with the force, piking his legs and landing on his feet.

"The back piece gets in the way," Steve told Clint, as he stiff-armed the archer away.

"Hips it is," Clint answered, joining the fray with spinning kick that Steve leaped over.

Sam and T'Challa lunged from either side, while Sharon reached for a paintball handgun. T'Challa raked with his fingers, as if he had his claws on. Steve blocked with his vambrace — even without the vanes, the metal arm piece stopped the blow. T'Challa bounced away, shaking his fingers. Steve punched him in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards. T'Challa turned his fall into a graceful somersault and landed crouched, one hand touching the ground. Spinning away from T'Challa, Steve met Sam head-on, catching the man's charge and tossing him (gently) at Natasha. Fast as she was, she couldn't avoid the flying man and they toppled in a heap together.

Steve snatched a handful of his new throwing balls and flung them, one, two, three. They rebounded in different directions. Hitting Clint and T'Challa in the chest and Sharon between her shoulder blades.

Clint dropped with dramatic death throes, immediately copied by Sharon. T'Challa laughed and flopped on the floor as well.

Steve Rogers stood triumphant over his fallen foes.

Clint began to clap and the others joined in. Steve bowed.

"Better," Natasha said grudgingly.

* * *

 _A/N: We've seen Steve fight without his shield. He kept losing it in Winter Soldier. But old habits are hard to break, so he'd need some practice._


	15. Code Names

**Code Names**

Steve Rogers, Sharon Carter and Sam Wilson watched the Wakandan jet take off, returning Clint, Wanda and Natasha to their lives and their family. Clint's family, anyway. The three remaining rogue Avengers went back inside the palace, pondering what would happen next.

Sam took off on business of his own, leaving the other two to talk.

"What are we going to do? After you learn to fight again, I mean," Sharon teased. Steve was still adjusting to using his new weapons in battle; he kept leaving himself open without Cap's shield. His left side was black and blue from being hit with paint balls, courtesy of Sharon. "Where are you and Sam and I going to call home?"

"I haven't had a real home since Bucky went into the Army," Steve said wistfully. "We shared a place I Brooklyn after my mom died," he explained.

"Your apartment in D.C. didn't feel like home?" Sharon asked.

"No. Never spent much time there," Steve confessed. "Had a nice neighbor, though."

"Really?" Sharon asked coyly.

"Yes, Mrs. Bronson was always giving me chocolate chip cookies because I needed 'fattening up'."

Sharon punched Steve hard in the bicep — which didn't hurt him at all, but made her fingers sting.

"Since the 1940s, I've just gone from army camp to Avengers training base. No real home anywhere," Steve admitted.

"Avengers Tower was a pretty luxurious encampment," Sharon said.

"Just a place to sleep between missions."

"You're just a nomad," Sharon teased.

"Nomad!" Sam's enthusiastic agreement made both of them jump. He came in carrying an open laptop. "Nomad! That can be your new code name."

"Code name?"

"Well, it's not a good idea to go yelling your real name around a battle. And you said yourself you can't be Captain America any more. Unless you're going to stop fighting bad guys entirely?" he said sardonically.

Sharon snorted at the ridiculousness of the idea.

"OK, you're right," Steve agreed. "Nomad's not a bad code name. Maybe I could get a costume that's black and stealthy, like Black Panther's minus the ears."

"Good idea," Sam approved. "What about you, Sharon?"

"Tracy," she said instantly.

"Tracy? Just Tracy?" Sam asked puzzled. "Not Killerdiller or Super Wench?"

Sharon threw a pillow at Sam, who took it on his back to save his computer.

"Tracy was your last name when you were my neighbor 'Kate,'" Steve said.

"Yes, it's my little joke," Sharon answered. "It's not really Tracy, it's Trece." She gave it a Spanish pronunciation.

Steve got it and grinned, but Sam continued to look confused. "That's thirteen in Spanish, isn't it?"

Steve and Sharon shared a grin and Sam asked, "What's the joke?"

"Some SHIELD agents got code names like Hawkeye. Special Services agents got numbers. I was Agent 13," she explained.

"So, Tracy. OK."

"What did you have in mind, Sam?" Sharon asked.

"I was thinking about an owl name," Sam answered. "But it's hard to find one that's not already a villain or a comic book character. I was looking up species of owl, trying to get inspired."

"Why owls?" Steve asked.

Sam gave his friend a thoughtful look. "I don't suppose you've ever heard of streaking," he asked.

Steve looked baffled and was relieved to see Sharon looked just as confused.

"Are you going to fly around with no clothes on, Wilson?" she asked.

"No clothes!" Steve exclaimed.

"Streaking was a fad in the '70s or '80s, I think," Sharon explained. "People would run naked through a public place."

"That's weird," Steve said.

"No weirder than swallowing goldfish or stuffing phone booths," Sharon answered.

"Stuffing phone booths with what?" Steve asked.

Sharon grabbed Sam's laptop to look it up, then apologized. Cramming as many people as possible into a phone booth was a 1950s fad. After Steve's time.

"Too bad," Steve commented. "I would have been good at it, skinny as I was in the 1930s. I do remember the goldfish craze," he continued. "It was really big in 1939. We couldn't believe college students had money to waste swallowing innocent goldfish. Bucky's mother wondered what was wrong with a well-cooked piece of cod."

The others laughed.

"But we're getting off the point I was trying to make," Sam said, dragging the conversation back to the topic. "Streaking. My dad got caught up in the fad. He ran through a summer picnic crowd wearing a mask so no one would recognize him. But he forgot to close his gate tightly when he left, so, though no one saw his face, everyone recognized the dog running behind him."

Everyone laughed at the image.

"What I'm trying to say, is that if Falcon flies in the daytime, everyone will know Nomad is Steve Rogers, no matter what uniform he's wearing," Sam explained.

Sharon nodded. "So you're looking for an owl name because you can only fly at night."

"And the woman wins a prize!" Sam exclaimed.

"Then let's look at the list," Steve said.

"It can't be The Owl," the former SHIELD agent said. "That's the pseudonym of a bad guy, a vicious gang leader."

"And Nite Owl and Black Owl are comic book characters." Sam said. "Right now I'm leading toward Masked Owl or Shadow Owl."

"Not bad," Sharon said. Looking at the list, she teased, "What about Flammulated Owl or Vermiculated Screech Owl."

"That would be a mouthful to shout during a battle,' Steve said with a straight face. "What do those words even mean?"

Looking them up, they found "flammulated" meant "flame-like" and "vermiculated" meant "worm-like," both owls named for the patterns in their feathers.

"I like this one," Steve said. "Laughing Owl. You could drop out of the darkness with a menacing laugh. Bwah ha ha!"

"No, here! Pick this one!" Sharon begged. "The Tanimbar Boobook Owl. Boobook — it's so cute! I can see me calling you, 'Here Boo! Here Boo!'"

Steve smothered a chuckle.

Sam snatched his computer away. "You two are no help," he growled, smiling.

* * *

 _A/N: The streaking story is supposed to be true, though not Sam's father, of course. The owl names are real, too._

 _My head canon has Steve using the code name Nomad, which he did in the comics for a very short time. But his costume and weapons will be my own invention. Nomad's costume was dumb. Dumber than sparkly red, white and blue._


	16. Safe Houses

**Safe Houses**

Clint Barton was enjoying being chauffeured in one of T'Challa's panther-stealthy jets. He chatted with the pilots clear across the Atlantic, then went to find his Avengers cohorts. Wanda Maximoff was taking a nap, but Natasha Romanoff was busy working on her laptop. She'd been going through the files from The Raft since the flight started.

"Are you still working on that?" he asked.

"I want to find out if Ross has any clues to Bruce's whereabouts," she answered.

"Does he?"

"Not that I've found," she answered, then she sighed. "But I also found out I owe Stark an apology." She made it sound like that was a fate worse than death.

Clint wisely didn't comment on that. "What for?" he asked simply.

"Ross already knew you had a family, before Stark mentioned it," Natasha answered.

Clint froze in fury and fear.

"He had no idea where they are," Natasha said hastily, to reassure her partner. "He just knew they existed. He got access to some payroll records, all our deep cover people, with payments made through dead drops, etc. He couldn't trace the money, but he knew the payments existed."

"OK," Clint accepted the bad news. "Hey! Maybe Tony was trying to warn me that Ross knew."

"Well, his comment certainly made us more wary." Wanda's voice came from her bunk.

"Which is why I owe him an apology," Natasha said sourly.

"At least it's only a mental apology," Clint offered.

Natasha brightened. "That's true."

Wanda snickered.

* * *

After being dropped off, Clint and Natasha made their way to the hidden Barton family farm by a twisted, secretive process. It was an eye-opening, educational journey for Wanda.

Though Natasha believed the farm was still safely off the grid, they spied on the property for more than a day before deciding everything looked normal. Still, they made a stealthy way across the fields, before knocking on the front door, weapons at the ready.

The peephole slid open, then the door flew open. "It's Dad. It's Dad!" Cooper called excitedly, before throwing himself into his father's arms. "Five by five, Dad," he muttered into his father's chest, the code for "all's clear."

Clint slung his bow on his back and Natasha slid her gun into her holster. Taking the clue, Wanda reabsorbed the scarlet energy that had been dancing around her fingertips.

By then, Lila had flung herself into the group hug, dragging Natasha in with her, and Laura appeared, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. Her eyes shined with happiness to see Clint and Natasha safe.

"You must be Wanda," she greeted the one left out. She offered her hand. "I'm Laura, Clint's wife."

"I have heard much about you," Wanda replied. "I am looking forward to meeting my brother's namesake."

"My namesake," Natasha corrected possessively, in a voice slightly strangled by Lila's grip around her neck.

Clint set the kids on their feet. "Now listen," he said seriously. "I got caught and ended up on the wrong side of the law this time. I'm sorry, because that may have put you in danger. People I don't trust found out I have a wife and kids, and I expect they'll do anything to track you down to use as leverage on me and the other Avengers. We may have to leave this farm and find a new safe house. So, I'm not sorry I went, because it was really important and Cap and Wanda needed my help, but I'm sorry my actions may have put you in danger."

Lila had been trying to interrupt. When her father finished his apology, she blurted, "It's OK, Dad. Uncle Nick says we're still safe here."

"Uncle Nick?"

Clint looked up and, sure enough, there he was the old pirate. He wore jeans and a denim jacket with a dark beret and mirrored sunglasses (even indoors) to hide his damaged eye.

"Everything's taken care of, Barton," Nick Fury said. "This place and your family are as safe as they ever were."

Clint heaved a deep sigh of relief and relaxed. Nick Fury was the spy's spy, the master of deception. His concealment protocols had protected the Barton family through the fall of SHIELD. If he said the family was safe, then they were. Hell, Fury had commanded a giant airborne aircraft carrier when it publicly rescued the population of a flying city — and yet most people still thought he was dead.

"Why don't you get off the porch and come in," Nick said dryly. "It's your house."

Inside, the Avengers found another old friend, Maria Hill, who was calmly feeding baby Nathaniel. She had mashed potatoes on her shirt and in her hair, but didn't seem to care. She'd done worse things on SHIELD missions.

"Stark kicked me out," she explained before anyone asked. "Seemed to think I was more loyal to other people than to him."

"Well, he's not wrong," Fury said. "Too bad, though. He could use your level head right now."

"Pepper and Rhodey will take care of him," Hill answered. "I talked to both of them before I 'disappeared'."

* * *

The group had a hearty dinner dinner full of excited chatter by the children getting their father caught up with their activities, with just a bare outline of their father's activities.

After the children went to bed, the adults gathered around the kitchen table. Clint wanted details about his family's safety.

* * *

"It's not a pretty story," Fury said. "I'm almost sorry we had to take advantage of it."

"I'm not," Hill said firmly.

"Basically, your family has joined the ranks of the undead," Fury said.

Natasha got it. "Like you?"

"Like me," Nick confirmed. "A paranoid homeless man killed a woman and her two children in Ames, Iowa. Apparently, the little girl ran to give the man a five-dollar bill and he saw it as some sort of attack. He shot the girl, her mother and her brother.

"I admit, we were looking for something like this ever since the fact that you have a family was leaked," Fury told Clint.

"This sort of tragedy happens every day, unfortunately," Hill said.

"There was a manhunt for the killer. When the police found him, he was dead. Shot by an arrow," Fury said.

"Still not sorry," Hill said complacently.

"You?" Clint asked.

"Just like you taught me," she answered. "It wasn't a long shot or a fancy one, just neat revenge for a kind woman who never had a break in her life. The history we've found on this guy — he was a mean SOB from day one. Tortured animals for fun. Got expelled from three schools. Wanted to join the military, but couldn't pass the psych. He always ranted about the military, SHIELD, Hydra, superheroes — anyone in power. I didn't regret putting him down. At least this way that poor woman's death counted for something."

"The woman was perfect for our cover story," Fury said. "A single mother estranged from her family because she would never tell them who the father of her children was."

"It seems a shame to use her death this way," Laura said sympathetically.

"Well, we'll see she and her kids get a decent burial, which is more than her family was planning to," Fury said.

"Is an arrow enough to convince the authorities that the family belonged to Hawkeye?" Wanda asked.

Hill said, "We supplied a couple of witnesses and a cellphone audio recording of the man ranting: 'I've seen you with Hawkeye, bitch! This is what happens to traitors!'"

"The local cops have already reported the murder of Hawkeye's family. I'm sure Ross has the news by now," Fury said.

Natasha smiled, "And nobody looks for you when you're dead."

Fury answered the smile. "Ain't it the truth," the "dead man" said.

"Can we make sure Stark knows the truth?" Wanda asked. "The poor man carries enough guilt."

"All he needs is one look at the victims and he'll know it wasn't Laura and my kids. And he knows there should be a third kid, too," Clint said.

"Still."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it myself," Fury promised.

* * *

Tony Stark was in his workshop upgrading a wheelchair for Rhodey. The robotic leg supports were good, but they were awfully tiring for full time use, so Tony was giving his best pal options. He was building some goodies into this wheelchair.

"Please don't tell me this thing is going to fly," said a familiar voice behind his back.

Tony dropped his wrench in exasperation and turned to face the "ghost" of Nick Fury.

"OK, then I won't tell you," Tony snarked. "And why didn't Friday tell me you were coming?"

"She has a blind spot where I'm concerned," Fury smirked.

"Hill."

"Most likely," Fury agreed. "I just wanted to let you know that Barton's family is just about as dead as I am."

Tony was honestly surprised. "Dead?"

"Good, you hadn't heard, yet. Maximoff didn't want you to worry. We took advantage of an unfortunate murder to make Ross think Barton no longer has a family — something you should not have mentioned when you visited the Raft," Fury scolded.

Tony shook his head. "I had to make sure Clint watched his back, after Ross let it slip he knew Clint had a wife and kids," he said.

"It took a while to figure out it was a warning," Fury said. "Romanoff said she owed you an apology for thinking you outed the Bartons. But I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for it."

Tony snorted agreement.

"Now, tell me what happened in this 'Civil War'," Nick demanded.

Tony explained everything, admitting to an error of judgment in recruiting Spider-Man (but not telling Nick the kid's name) and ended up complaining that everyone went over the Cap's side. "Everyone loves him more than me," he grumbled jokingly.

"Believe me, I understand," Fury said with feeling. "Before we attacked the Insight helicarriers, I thought we could root out Hydra and save SHIELD, but Rogers said it all had to go. And everyone backed him up — even Romanoff and Hill!"

"Maybe he was wrong," Tony said. "If we still had SHIELD, we probably wouldn't have the Accords."

"Maybe," Fury agreed. "But now, I think no one would have trusted SHIELD after we'd concealed Hydra for so long."

The two men pondered the question and sighed in unison. "Cap is usually right," Stark said morosely. "That's why I hate him sometimes."

"I know what you mean." After a long moment, Fury heaved himself to his feet. "He's scuttled two of my best projects: SHIELD and the Avengers Initiative. Sometimes I'm sorry we defrosted the man."

"But most of the time, not," Tony said, because he knew exactly how Fury felt. The former SHIELD boss grunted agreement.

"I'll go now before your AI wakes up." He looked at the souped up wheelchair. "It's not really going to fly, is it?" he asked almost plaintively.

"Probably not," Tony admitted.

But after Fury left, Tony said to himself. "But maybe."

* * *

 _A/N: It was my sister's idea that maybe Tony mentioning Clint's family was meant as a warning. Thank you, Jelsemium._


	17. Saying Goodbye

**Saying Goodbye**

Sam Wilson entered the laboratory where Bucky Barnes stood, frozen in cryosleep. The room was empty, because the scientists were in a meeting with Steve Rogers and King T'Challa.

Sam hesitated, then pressed the button for the cryochamber intercom. He sat in the chair left for Steve's daily use.

"Hey, Barnes, this is Sam Wilson — the flying man. I know we didn't get off to the best start — you ripped the steering wheel out of my hands and clear out of my car. You made me crash my car. I liked that car! And then you ripped off one of my wings and threw me off a helicarrier! I liked those wings, too! And then you kept kicking the back of the seat all the way from Berlin to Leipzig! I know it was cramped back there, but it kept you out of sight — and I had the seat as far forward as I could go without sitting with my knees in my face. Seriously!"

Sam shook his head at himself. "I don't know why I'm rehashing all this. It's no fun when you can't argue back. At least you'll know it's really me. I'm not even sure you can hear me, but I knew a guy who had been in a coma for a month and he heard everything his family said to him. And I guess the scientists wouldn't have put this intercom in the cryochamber, if they didn't think it would do some good.

"Anyway, the reason I'm here talking to your frozen face — I just wanted to say goodbye. Steve and Sharon Carter and I will be leaving tomorrow. It's too dangerous for you and T'Challa if we fugitives stay in Wakanda, so we're heading back to the States. Still plan to do a little hero business. Small stuff, I guess, stopping muggers, rescuing people from burning buildings, trying to stay off the Avengers' radar. Just keeping in practice in case something big breaks. Because Steve thinks something big is coming.

"You should have seen me when I first met Steve. You would have laughed how starry-eyed I was, and trying not to show it. I don't know if he ever told you, but I was out jogging and Steve was running circles around me. Literally. And yelling, 'on your left!' every time he passed. You're right that he's a punk! Anyway, I realized I was trying to keep up with Captain America, so I collapsed on the ground and he came back to check on me. OK, he's a nice punk," Sam allowed.

"When he started to leave, I was pitifully desperate to stop him, to really make a connection. Not because I was star-struck, though, dude, he's Captain America! But because I always thought how lonely he must be. I've known a lot vets who come back from the war and feel alienated from everyone. But Cap came back and everything he knew was gone. I wanted him to know he wasn't alone, that there were people who would understand. So I started babbling about how beds seem too soft back in civilization. And it worked!

"It is the single most proud moment of my life, that I made a connection with Steve Rogers and it was strong enough that he came to me when he needed help. I will never betray that trust," Sam swore. "I will never let him down. And I won't let you down, either, Barnes.

"If you're any kind of awake in there, I know you're worried about Steve. I just wanted you to know I'll look after him for you until you get back on your feet. I'll watch his back and try to keep him from doing anything stupid. No promises, because this is Steve we're talking about, but I'll try.

"Well, I'd better go. Steve will be here soon to say his own goodbyes. Have a nice nap — an ice nap! And get your head on straight. I'll look for you when the fur begins to fly again and I'll make sure Steve is in one piece to greet you. 'Til the end of the line, Barnes."

Sam used his knuckles to turn off the intercom, as if he were giving the chamber a fist bump.

* * *

Just outside the door, Steve shook himself free from his trance and retreated silently, so Sam wouldn't know held been overheard.

As he ducked around a corner, Steve knuckled moisture from his eyes. He felt so grateful. He honestly didn't know what he'd ever done to deserve two such loyal friends.

Which is why he had them, of course.


	18. BFF

_A/N: Note to Kawherp, don't read this one at work._

 **BFF**

"Hey, Buck, it's me," Steve said, slipping into his usual seat beside his friend's cryochamber and pressing the intercom button. "I just came to say goodbye. I'm going to be leaving for awhile and I know you worry when you don't know what trouble I'm getting into."

Unlike Sam, who wasn't sure, Steve fully believed that Bucky could hear and understand him. Even if he was wrong, talking to his silent friend made Steve feel a little better.

"T'Challa promised that someone will come and talk to you every day, so you don't feel abandoned. You'll get to know the science team that's working on your recovery. I know T'Challa will come sometimes, too. He'll keep you updated on my antics, I'm sure," Steve said with a laugh. "The latest chapter of Super Soldier Without a Country," Steve intoned, like an old time radio announcer. "It'll be like the serials we used to listen to on the radio."

"When no one's chatting with you, they'll continue to pipe in music or ambient sounds from the lab or the marketplace. And, now that I've thought of it, maybe I can find a couple of those old radio shows you can listen to — you can find everything online these days."

"Most of the team has gone home," Steve continued. "I told you — right? — that Natasha got in touch with T'Challa. She brought Sharon and the three of them helped me break the others out of the prison where Secretary Ross had put them. Crazy place. It sank underwater! That was supposed to keep any of those dangerous super-powered 'criminals' from escaping. That didn't work so well for them." Steve smirked and knew Bucky would hear it in his voice.

"So after we got back to Wakanda, we took a little time to recuperate — they did a number on Wanda. Put her in a straightjacket with an electroshock collar. That's no way to treat a dame," Steve said sadly.

"But she's doing much better. All healed up. We did a little investigating and it seemed safe for us to leave, so Scott went back to San Francisco where his daughter lives. Clint took Wanda to his family and Natasha went with them for the moment. I think she's going to wander off by herself eventually, maybe go find Bruce Banner. They had a spark before the Ultron thing, but that battle might have blown it out. I think Nat wants to find out for sure.

"Sam and Sharon are going to stick with me. I'd like to stay longer, I don't want to leave you here in cryo, Buck, but my presence could attract attention to you, which would be dangerous. I don't want Ross to get any ideas about T'Challa helping us. So Sam and Sharon and I are going to head out, maybe to the West Coast, since Tony's stuck in New York now. We'll make a little splash catching criminals. I'll try to keep to a new disguise, so Ross will suspect it's me, but not have any proof. So if he looks for you, he'll look in California and not in Africa. That's the plan, anyway."

Steve went on to tell his pal about the code names they'd selected. "Sam's going with Masked Owl, but you know it's just going to be 'Owl' if we need to call out in battle. I'm still trying to persuade him to do the Laughing Owl evil laugh, though."

He told about the new weapons Clint and T'Challa had made for him. "I still automatically reach for the shield sometimes, but I'm getting better. And I have Sam and Sharon to watch my back." Steve paused.

"I accidentally overheard Sam talking to you, Buck. I heard him say he'd look after me until you get back on your feet. I can testify he's just as annoying a nursemaid as you are. But you don't have to worry, Buck. He's not going to take your place. No one could ever replace you.

"Sam's the best friend I've made in the 21st century, but you're my brother, my BFF. Do you know that term? The kids use it; it means Best Friend Forever. I guess nearly a hundred years is as close to forever as anyone can expect. You're the only one left who remembers sickly, skinny Steve. You're the only one I know who didn't grow up on fairy tales about heroic Captain America. You're the only one who gets all my old jokes. Sad as it is to say, you're the only one left who has shared life experiences. In my life, I've traveled to the future, fought aliens and ridden on a flying aircraft carrier. I found my best friend alive, when I knew he was dead. So I'm not ready to give up on you. It's a miracle that we're both still alive. It's maybe not too much to ask for a second miracle, for you to be healed. Maybe we can't be the same Bucky and Steve who scrapped our way through the Great Depression and planned for 'when times got better.' But we're still best friends, Buck. That's never going to change. Best Friends Forever."

"Bye, Buck. See you in the funny papers," Steve said, attempting to sound jovial, but failing. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

He turned off the intercom, rested the palm of his hand on the cryochamber for a long moment, then, head bowed, he did the hardest thing he'd ever done. He turned his back on his brother and walked away.


	19. Picnic

_A/N: My philosophy as a fanfic writer: I am a journalist. I like to post on deadline, which is Saturday. I usually had only a story or two in the bank, but I got so inspired by Civil War and I had a week off right after it, so I got a bunch of stories written. But still I prefer to post them once a week, so you know when to look for them and because some weeks I don't have time to write and I hate to miss deadline. I may post an extra on a holiday or just because, but basically you can look for the stories on Saturday._

 _As far as this chapter goes, I honestly don't know where some of these ideas come from. Sitting in traffic sucking exhaust fumes, I guess. Anyway, here's a more cheerful one after the sadness of the last two._

* * *

 **Picnic**

Wearing his bright and shining Iron Man armor, Tony Stark was depressed as he stood amid a crowd of happy picnicking families.

Partly he was bored out of his skull. The Avengers had promised an appearance at this awards celebration clear back at the beginning of the school year. Though the Avengers had self-destructed in a spectacular fashion, the commitment remained.

Rhodey had intended to come, but he'd spent a bad night, full of pain and nightmares. Vision had just disappeared, gone off somewhere to brood. Tony wondered if the android was suffering through the Terrible Twos Tony had read about. So Tony came without backup.

He felt he had disappointed enough people this year. He wasn't going to disappoint these kids. But it wasn't even a science or math awards program. No, it was for the arts — essays, paintings, poetry, dancing and music were not Tony's bailiwick. So he was bored, but he was also depressed, because he couldn't help think how much the other Avengers would have loved this. Steve Rogers would have admired the artwork, Natasha Romanoff the dancing and Sam Wilson the music. Clint Barton and Natasha had always been good at children's events, which had surprised Tony until he learned about Daddy Clint and Auntie Nat.

But Tony didn't see himself as good with kids and he didn't enjoy the childish performances, so he merely endured, posing for selfies with the picnickers that weren't firmly in Cap's camp, and waiting until he could present the awards and fly away.

"Mister Iron Man?" The voice came from around his knees. Tony looked down to see a toddler with a bright smile that was surrounded by a smeared mess of chocolate crumbs and frosting. With hands that were twice as messy as his face, the youngster held out part of a squashed and gooey chocolate cupcake. "Wanna cupcake?" the boy offered.

Tony manfully resisted the urge to back away from the mess monster in front of him.

"Davy!" The boy's mother appeared in that miraculous way that mother's have. Heedless of the chocolate smears, she grabbed the boy's arm firmly, just tight enough to keep Davy from advancing farther with his weaponized cupcake. "What has daddy said about eating in his car?" she asked the boy.

"No messy food in Daddy's clean car," Davy answered promptly.

"Very good. Iron Man doesn't want any messy food in his nice clean armor, either," the mom said.

"It's a bi...bear to clean," Tony agreed. "Get a few sandwich crumbs inside ..." He shuddered, as if the thought was too horrid to express aloud. "But, uh, thank you for the thought," he offered, trying to think what Pepper would say in the situation.

"Welcome," the boy answered brightly. He regarded the partial cupcake in his hand, then stuffed in in his mouth, so as to not waste it. Then, before his mother could stop him, Davy threw his grimy arms around Iron's Man's leg and hugged him, rubbing his chocolaty face on Tony's knee.

Tony froze in horror. Across the way, two equally horrified faces looked back. The man and older boy obviously the father and older brother of the filthy limpet clinging to Iron Man's leg.

Mom looked more resigned than horrified. "That's enough," she ordered. She pulled a handful of wet wipes out of her purse and handed them to Davy. "Take these to your father," she ordered. The boy scampered off. Dad grabbed Davy and ducked away into the crowd, out of sight of the billionaire who had just been slimed by his son.

The mother seemed unfazed. Tony supposed that moms have to learn to deal with messes. It's part of the Mom Handbook.

"I'm sorry," Mom said, producing more wet wipes and beginning to clean off the armor, even going so far as to spit on the cloth to scrub at a particularly stubborn spot.

Tony was rigid in embarrassment. The picnickers all found something else to look at quickly.

It was never usually a problem for Tony to find something to say, but this was as far out of his realm as Asgard. "Um, why ... why was your son trying to give me that cupcake?"

"He feels sorry for you. Because your friends are gone," the Mom explained. "He doesn't really understand what happened ..."

"Neither do I," Tony muttered, but not quietly enough to avoid the Mom ears.

"Oh, good, I thought it was just me," she said. "Anyway, Davy just knows that the Avengers aren't together any more. He feels bad for you, because our nextdoor neighbors had to move away for the father's job. Davy's two best friends and their golden retriever. Davy is sad every time he looks at the empty house next door."

"Empty? In this real estate market?"

"Well, Jeff might have put too high a price on it," the Mom admitted. "See, his company was purchased by another one and the research staff was relocated to New Orleans. He's afraid there will be layoffs, because the company has done that before. Drag people to another state, then lay them off."

Tony asked which company and nodded when the Mom answered. He knew their reputation.

The woman stepped back and looked at her cleaning efforts. "There you go, all nice and shiny again."

"So this Jeff didn't want to move?"

"No. His family is out here. His wife's family, too."

"Give me his name," Tony said abruptly. "We always have room for researchers at SI."

The woman was pleasantly surprised and gave Tony her former neighbor's contact information. "Thank you. That would be amazing," she said.

Tony was (finally!) called to the stage to present the awards.

"Thanks again!" the woman called after him.

"I might not be able to get my own friends back, but I can get Davy's," Tony muttered to himself.

Mom had sharp ears. (Also in the Handbook.) She hurried forward to whisper in his ear the same words she kept telling Davy, "Just because they're not here anymore, doesn't mean they're not still your friends."

Tony shook his head at himself. It had been so long, he'd almost forgotten. Moms know everything. And they always make you feel better.


	20. Apologies

**Apologies**

Sitting in a wheelchair in the VA therapy center, Rhodey absently looked out the window at a serene garden while he massaged his leg, just above the knee. It was weird to see his hands on his leg, but not feel them.

He'd finished a physical therapy session early and was waiting for his appointment with a psychologist.

A man in the green scrubs of the orderlies came up beside him. "Want to get a little sun?"

"Sounds good," Rhodey admitted. If he'd had his Stark-made powered wheelchair, he be cruising in the gardens, but he never brought that or his robotic leg braces to the VA, because he didn't want to incite the envy of the other veterans.

The orderly took the handles of the wheelchair and guided it with easy familiarity out the automatic doors onto one of the paved paths that meandered through the garden. Rhodey closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face and the sweet scent of star jasmine.

A shadow fell across his face. Rhodey opened his eyes to see they had paused in a shaded nook out of sight of the main building. One of the places where patients could find an illusion of privacy if they wanted. With a faint stirring of unease, Rhodey wondered why his "driver" wanted privacy.

The man squatted next to the wheelchair. "So, how you doing?" Sam Wilson asked.

"What are you doing here?" Rhodey was astounded to see his fugitive friend in a government facility. "How did you get in here?"

Sam tapped the card clipped to his shirt pocket. "Still have the credentials and a clipboard. Nobody asks questions if you look official. It's not like this is a weapons depot with major security. I came to see how you are, since it's my fault you're here."

"First, I'm fine," Rhodey said. "I survived a dead stick crash with the use of half my body. Better than I had any right to expect. Second, it wasn't your fault. I'm the one who called in the strike. Amazing aerobatics, by the way. Just before 'oh, shit, I'm falling' I was thinking, 'wow, what flying!' I never saw a mid-air tuck and roll."

Sam chuckled. "Can't do that in a plane. Maybe in an Iron Man suit."

"Mine's not that flexible. It wasn't your fault, Wilson. It wasn't Vision's either. It was just bad luck."

"I'm sorry, anyway," Sam said.

"You should be. What you did was illegal, Wilson," Rhodey said with exaggerated sternness.

Sam scoffed. "Wouldn't be the first time the law was wrong," Sam said. "Or did your ancestors come over on the Mayflower," the one black man sarcastically said to the other.

"But as members of the armed forces …"

"… we are duty bound to disobey illegal orders," Sam replied. "I'm sorry I ended up a wanted man, but I'm not sorry I followed Cap. They issued a shoot-to-kill order based on a blurry, faked video. That's not the way the law works, Rhodes, not in any of the 117 countries that signed the Accords."

"I suppose we have to agree to disagree," Rhodey smirked.

"Not much choice now," Sam agreed.

The two friends talked a bit more. Rhodey found out everyone was "fine" without learning (or trying to learn) any more. He really didn't feel like turning in any Avengers today. Finally, Sam began to wheel him back into the therapy center.

"I'm sorry you got the worst of it, Rhodey. I told you that you should have a parachute in that thing," said Sam, who had one in his wings.

"I'm taking that under advisement," Rhodey answered.

* * *

Rhodey looked in annoyance at the jar of peanut butter on the shelf — just out of reach of the man in the wheelchair, even his high-powered, Stark-made super chair. He was particularly peeved, because he was the one who'd left the jar at the back of the shelf. He'd put it back when he'd been wearing the leg braces that gave him upright mobility, but Tony was making adjustments to the braces in his lab, and Rhodey had a powerful craving for a peanut butter sandwich.

Using his arms, he pushed himself forward to the edge of the chair and stretched, just touching the edge of the jar with his finger. He shifted too far forward and started to tilt, realizing he was going to crack his chin on the edge of the shelf.

Rhodey gasped, as a hand emerged from the cupboard, catching his chest and pushing him safely back into his seat. It was always a shock to see Vision phasing through solid objects. Rhodey didn't understand how he could do that, especially how he could solidify his hand while the rest of him was still moving through the shelves. But he was grateful that his tumble was prevented.

With Rhodey properly seated, Vision stepped around his chair and reached back for the peanut butter. Without saying anything, he began making a peanut butter sandwich, with margarine on whole wheat, just the way Rhodey liked it.

"Thanks," Rhodey said, when he recovered from the shock.

"It is my pleasure," Vision answered. "If you find yourself in such a predicament again, all you need to do is tell Friday to call me."

"I don't like to bother you," Rhodey said, meaning he didn't want to be a burden on anyone.

"I am at your service. It is the least I can do, after causing your injury."

Did the android's voice tremble? Rhodey was sure it trembled. He guided the wheelchair to Vision's side.

"You know I don't blame you, right?" Rhodey asked.

"And yet, it was my fault," Vision answered.

"You fired at my command," Rhodey reminded him. "Wilson dodged. I got hit. End of story. I don't blame you."

"I blame myself," Vision answered. "I was distracted by Wanda's injury. I should have fired with more precision. Sam has wings to glide to earth and a parachute if the wings are damaged, but when you lost power …"

"I crashed," Rhodey said bluntly. "I was an Air Force pilot. This was not my first crash. Not my first injury. It may be my worst injury, but I'm alive and I've got Tony Stark developing brand-new tech to get me on my feet again. Eventually, thousands of people will benefit from me breaking my back, so everybody wins."

"I will try to keep that in mind."

"You do that. There's no point in wasting time and energy with useless regrets." Rhodey took the sandwich with thanks. "And I promise, next time I'll ask for help."

Vision smiled. "Thank you. That would make me feel better."

* * *

"I'm sorry," Tony Stark blurted to his oldest friend while James Rhodes doggedly tried to place one foot in front of the other, as he supported most of his weight with his arms.

"What? Did you eat the last chocolate muffin? Because I told you I had dibs," Rhodey answered.

"No, this." His body stiff with tension, Tony made a gesture that encompassed the rehabilitation equipment, the gym and the rest of the world outside the wall of windows. Not as specific as Rhodey would have liked.

He had a not so odd feeling of déjà vu. He'd had this conversation before — twice before.

Rhodey hung an arm over the parallel bars and slapped his feeble leg. "If you mean this, it's not your fault. If anything, it's my fault. I'm the one who called the strike on Falcon. Sam dodged — awesome aerobatics, by the way. So it wasn't your fault. It wasn't Sam's fault. It wasn't Vision's fault. It was just bad luck." The colonel definitely felt like he'd said this before.

Tony fidgeted with his sunglasses. "That wasn't what I was talking about. I mean, what if it was my fault that all this happened — the Chitauri, Loki, Ultron, all these enhanced showing up — everything."

"A little egotistical, there, Tones," Rhodey said. "Though, to be fair, Ultron was your fault."

"I'm talking about Vision's equation," Tony said in exasperation. "About the escalation of super powers and super danger since I became Iron Man."

"Yeah, I got that." Rhodey maneuvered himself to his seat in his supercharged motorized wheelchair. "Look, Vision was wrong." The injured man had had an unconscionable amount of time to think about these things.

Tony gave him a look. "He's got a mind like a computer — literally."

Rhodey countered, "You tell me. Hell, you tell everyone, that you can't make an equation without having all the facts. Vision doesn't have all the facts. He doesn't remember everything Jarvis knew. He doesn't remember you telling me that Thor said SHIELD messing with the Tesseract signaled to the rest of the universe that Earth was ready for a 'higher form of war.'"

Tony cocked his head to one side. "He did say that, didn't he? So, what, we can blame this on Fury?"

Rhodey was glad to see his distressed friend show a sign of humor. "Hydra was pulling the strings in SHIELD. I say we blame it all on them."

Tony sank back in his chair, finally looking relaxed.

"So, it was all Hydra's fault? I can live with that."

* * *

 _A/N: Someone, I'm sorry I've forgotten whom, wrote a story where someone explains that all the heroes arose in response to villains. The first enhanced was Red Skull, not Captain America. That would still make everything Hydra's fault._

 _If you missed it, I posted an "A Very Good Team" chapter on Thursday. It's about baseball and Vin Scully._


	21. Call to Arms

_A/N: This is the big payoff, the end of the Reconstruction period and the beginning of Infinity Wars. That isn't to say this is the last chapter of this anthology, because I still have other fill-in stories and moments of introspection and maybe some post-Wakanda superhero action, but this would be the ending I hope for. Rather, the rebirth that I hope for. I see it as an end credit scene for Thor: Ragnarok or Guardians of the Galaxy 2._

 _Next week, look for a new chapter of In Between Times (based on events from Civil War), but don't worry, Reconstruction will be back._

* * *

 **Call to Arms**

Lightning crackled across the clear night sky, blinding in its brightness, making the attendees at the military reception shade their eyes in alarm.

Angry clouds boiled up out of nowhere. Thunder crashed, loud enough to set off car alarms on the street below. Rain came, pouring down as suddenly as if someone had turned on a fire hose.

The conference participants rushed for the door, shoving to get inside — all but Tony Stark who stood waiting, face slightly upturned toward the downpour. His hair was plastered flat and his Armani suit was soaked.

"Come on, Mr. Stark!" a man called

"Go on without me," Tony replied. "I'm waiting."

"Waiting? For what?"

"Another guest," Tony answered, as Thor dropped from the sky.

"Trouble?" Stark asked calmly, as if he had been waiting for this moment since Thor left for Asgard.

"Indeed."

"Stark, stop consorting with that alien! He hasn't signed the Accords," Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross barked from the protection of an awning.

"I am not of your world, old one. I have no patience with your petty squabbles. A fiercer foe is coming than you have ever seen, fiercer even than the Chitauri. Go and prepare your forces for war," Thor warned the former general. He turned his attention to Tony. "We have no time for pleasantries, Tony Stark. We must take action!"

"I'm all yours," Tony said. He pressed a button on his wristwatch and the Iron Man armor formed around him. "Come with me," he told the thunder god.

"Not without me!" Rhodey ordered, scooting his wheelchair out in the open. He curled his fingers around a switch on the arm of his wheelchair. The device unfolded and refolded, encasing the colonel and transforming into the War Machine armor. "Now, we can go."

The three heroes zoomed away from the apoplectic Ross.

* * *

At Avengers HQ, Thor told Tony about Ragnarok and the approach of Thanos, who had already claimed the Infinity Stones held at Asgard, Xander and Knowhere.

"The location of the final stone is still unknown, but we all know where the Mind Stone lies," Thor said.

"So he will be coming after Vision next," Tony said grimly. "He'll be coming to Earth."

"Aye, and he has no respect for innocents," Thor warned. "We need to prepare, we need assistance."

"On it," Tony said, as he reached into the back of a desk drawer. He flipped open an old-fashioned phone and pressed the button for the only preloaded phone number.

* * *

Steve Rogers always kept his virtually untraceable old-fashioned flip phone next to his heart. He felt it immediately when it began to vibrate, even though he was a little busy.

He slammed together the heads of two human traffickers. A kick sent a third flying down the alley.

"Tracy!" he called in warning.

"See it," Sharon Carter replied. She stepped gracefully aside and the flying goon crashed into the brick wall at the end of the alley. She thumped his head with her bo staff and the man tipped sideways, unconscious.

It was a moonless night and the alley was full of ominous shadows cast by the dozen men who had been surprised by the two heroes' attack. The only illumination came from two lights above two widely spaced metal doors.

Before her victim hit the ground, Steve had pulled the flip phone from inside his coal black outfit. He held the phone to his ear with his left hand, while he deflected a bullet with his right vambrace and pirouetted in a spinning kick to knock aside two machine guns.

"Hey, you caught me at a bad time," Steve apologized to Tony.

"Down!" Sharon called. Steve dropped to hands and knees as Sharon pole-vaulted over his head to land on the two men who were scrabbling for their machine guns.

"Give me a minute," Steve said into the phone. He tossed it to Sharon, as he waded into a charging crowd of men with handguns.

Sharon caught the phone easily. Knowing who was calling, she said, "Your call is very important to us. All our operators are busy assisting other customers." Two men charged at her, big paws reaching for the much smaller woman. "Please stay on the line," Sharon finished, then tossed the phone straight up.

One of her opponent's eyes automatically followed the flying object until it disappeared into the darkness above. This was a mistake. Sharon's staff caught him under the chin, knocking him out, so he never realized the phone didn't come down again.

"Hey, pal, you caught us in the middle of something." Sam Wilson's voice came out of the darkness, startling Sharon's second foe and making him easy prey for a swift side kick. "Can you give us ten minutes?" Sam continued.

On the other end of the line, Tony could hear the sound of battle, so he knew Steve wasn't playing with him the way Tony played with Ross. But Thor's news had made the billionaire impatient. "Make it five. Tell him Goldilocks is here."

Sam understood what that meant. He dropped out of the darkness, chortling an ominous, evil laugh that made the bad guys flinch. (Steve had been right about Laughing Owl.) Laughing Owl spun like a top as he dropped, black and gray patterned wings and outstretched fists flattening the crowd in front of Cap, I mean, Nomad. No one saw what hit them, which was the way the former Falcon liked it. Standing smirking atop a pile of foes, Sam calmly handed the phone to Steve.

"He says Goldilocks is there," Sam relayed the message, not wanting to say Thor's name or anyone's name in front of these goons, even if most of them were unconscious. "He said you have five minutes."

"I'll make it three," Steve decided. Holding the phone carefully in one hand, he rushed the last group, which had surrounded Sharon — to their cost. Her staff had knocked away every weapon and they hesitated to attack, wary of the whirling wood.

They didn't see Nomad charging from behind or Laughing Owl shooting toward them headlong like a bullet. And, a moment later, they didn't see anything at all.

* * *

While Sam and Sharon hauled the human traffickers into the selfsame shipping container they used to transport their human cargo, Steve stepped away out of earshot to talk to Tony, who summarized Thor's report.

"He thinks we have a month," Tony said.

Steve sighed, "Aliens from outer space — again!"

"So, can you roundup the usual suspects?" Tony asked hopefully, using a reference he knew Steve would understand.

"I can," Steve promised (he did get that reference). And he gave Tony a time and place for a meeting.

* * *

Steve thumbed a message on his phone and sent it to carefully memorized numbers across the globe.

Barefoot and contented, Natasha Romanoff sat in the dirt and carefully cleaned a cut on the arm of a brown-skinned toddler, while Bruce Banner prepared an antibiotic injection. Natasha's phone chimed in a tone saved for one person alone. The two Avengers eyes met, Bruce nodded, then Natasha looked at the text.

Clint and Laura Barton were just getting started on breakfast, when Clint's phone chimed. Laura kissed him then stood back and waited.

The chime woke Scott Lang from a sound sleep in Hank Pym's mansion. He ran to tell Hope and Hank.

T'Challa frowned at the message, then told his staff to begin preparations to wake Bucky Barnes.

* * *

The text message held a date and place and concluded with two simple words — "Avengers Assemble."

* * *

 _A/N: Admit it. You're waiting for it, aren't you? We've been waiting for YEARS!_


	22. The Flip Phone

_A/N: The previous chapters were basically in chronological order. Now we go to a more random pattern, with stories I didn't think of until after I'd passed that point in the chronology. This is a missing scene from Civil War. Why did Steve send Tony an elderly flip phone?_

* * *

 **The Flip Phone**

In the Leipzig airport's least used parking lot, Team Cap hurried to change into their uniforms out of sight of any random passersby. Wanda got the van while the men crammed into a maintenance storeroom that was slightly bigger than a closet — slightly.

"I wish we'd had a chance to get you a burner phone," Sam fretted, as he stumbled over a mop handle, hopping on one foot to pull his boot on. "We might need to get in touch with Carter again."

"You don't have a phone?" Scott asked, as he adjusted his helmet and checked the Pym Particle levels in his equipment.

"The task force confiscated ours," Steve explained, tugging his mask into place.

"We would have had to ditch them anyway. Tony Stark had our phone numbers!" Sam said.

"Kinda easy to trace that way," the electrical engineer agreed. "I've got a phone you can take." He pulled a bulky, old-fashioned flip phone out of his discarded jacket pocket.

Cap was charmed. He flipped it open, "Beam me up, Scotty," he said with a grin, then saw everyone staring at him. His ears burned. "What? It's like those Star Trek communicators."

Scott was open-mouthed in surprise. Sam leaned close, "That tech is so old, Cap's never seen it," he explained.

Scott swallowed his surprise. "Oh! Well, I wanted a burner phone so I could call my daughter if I needed to. My friend Luis said he could get me one cheap. It probably, uh, 'fell off' a truck in Mexico," he admitted.

"Stolen 20 years ago!" Clint translated, scoffing. "It's really old, Cap."

"Yes, old," Scott argued. "No Internet connection, no GPS, no find-my-phone app. Untraceable! Until you actually make a call."

"Good point," Clint admitted.

* * *

Steve remembered that conversation when he wanted to give Tony a way to get in touch with him. When he talked to Natasha on T'Challa's cellphone, he sent her a picture of the flip phone and asked if she could get one like it. He could hear the smirk when she agreed.

Steve packaged up the phone and a note. Natasha volunteered to mail it for him. While Steve was planning the jailbreak, Natasha made a quick flight to Italy and posted the package. Steve never knew that she'd modified the address.

The street address of the Avengers facility wasn't well known, but the name of Tony Stark might catch attention, even in a crowded Rome post office. And "Tony Stank" perfectly expressed Natasha's feelings. In later years, when she found out it had made Rhodey laugh, she counted it a double win.

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry it's so short. My mind has been on baseball and Halloween and elections. This was the quickest to edit._


	23. Give Him the Words

_A/N: This is another short one. Sorry, but I've been busy with Halloween stuff. This would take place sometime during the Infinity Wars._

 **Give Him the Words**

"Tony, so many of us have gotten second chances," Steve Rogers pleaded. "Natasha, Clint … you. Bucky was tortured, brainwashed and put on ice for 70 years. He's not the Winter Soldier any more. Can't you give him a chance?"

"He killed my Mom," Tony Stark answered in a choked voice. "I saw him kill my Mom. I can't forgive that."

Steve seemed to wilt as Bucky Barnes spoke up for the first time, "Neither can I. I murdered Howard, who was my friend. I killed his wife, just because she was a witness. I killed so many innocent people. I can't forgive myself for that. I can't bring any of them back. All I can try to do it make amends by saving other people. I'm not asking for anything but a chance to fight with the good guys again," he begged.

"I can't trust you," Tony answered. He simply could not trust this man, this murdering monster. "I'd be afraid to turn my back on you."

Steve opened his mouth to try another argument, but Bucky spoke first.

"Give him the words," he told Steve.

"Buck!" Steve was appalled.

"Give him the words," Bucky said steadily. "If he activates the Winter Soldier, I will be loyal to him. I will follow his orders and when the battle is done, he can tell me to jump off a cliff if he wants. I don't care. You need backup right now and I want to give it any way I can. The world needs us. Give him the words."


	24. Injury Report

_A/N: This takes place while Steve and Bucky are flying to Siberia. ZoraBriallen asked for more Bucky and I happened to have this one finished, so here we go._

* * *

 **Injury Report**

After Tony Stark turned back to help James Rhodes, Steve Rogers set the quinjet's autopilot for Siberia and engaged the stealth mode.

As usual, that made him think of Bruce Banner. He bowed his head and murmured a prayer for Bruce's safety. Then he went on to pray for the rest of his friends, each separately, including the new guys, Scott Lang and the unknown Spider-kid that Tony had dragged into the Avengers' mess. He prayed for Rhodey, who had fallen, and for his friends who had allowed themselves to be captured to let Steve and Bucky Barnes escape. And he prayed for Tony, his friend. Their disagreement had blown up into a Civil War. Too many friends had been caught in the middle.

Steve finished with a prayer of thanks that he had found Bucky again, alive and in his right mind.

When he raised his head again, Bucky asked, "You still do that?"

"Sometimes. Not as often as my mother would have liked me to," Steve said with a weak smile.

"You should eat something," Bucky said, sounding so much like his pre-war self that Steve teared up.

He climbed out of the pilot's seat, groaning as his battle wounds protested.

"You OK?" Bucky asked in quick concern.

"It's been a busy day, but I'll heal," Steve reminded him. "I don't need you to take care of me, Buck."

Bucky snorted. "Yes, you do, because you never take care of yourself. Now let me see," he ordered.

Steve obediently stripped off his jacket and his shirt. Bucky probed at his bruises, looking for more underlying injuries. It felt so familiar. Memories of Steve's childhood, youth and war years flickered past like a grainy newsreel. The one constant had been Bucky. Now he had his brother back and he wasn't going to let him go again.

Steve rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.

"Did that hurt?" Bucky asked.

"No, I just missed you fussing over me," Steve said.

Bucky couldn't find words to answer the sentiment. He cleared his throat and returned to his inspection.

"What's this from?" he asked brusquely. There was a long stripe of a bruise from Steve's hip to shoulder that seemed to have a couple of cracked ribs beneath it. He remembered nurse Sarah Rogers teaching him how to do this after Denny McGill kicked Steve and cracked a couple of ribs. (Denny lost two teeth and got a smashed nose that spoiled his handsome face, after Bucky caught up with him.)

"That's from falling a couple of stories onto the top of an elevator," Steve said.

"How about this?" Bucky massaged a massive bruised on Steve's right shoulder. The collarbone creaked, but didn't seem broken.

"That's from the tower falling on us at the airport."

Still looking at Steve's neck, Bucky saw four small pale green marks, like almost healed bruises.

"What are these?"

Steve would have liked to not answer, but he knew Bucky would figure it out in another second when he saw the corresponding single bruise on the opposite side.

"Those are fingerprints from a metal hand. Some jerk tried to strangle me yesterday," he said lightly.

Bucky yanked his hand away as if he'd been burned. "Steve … I …"

Steve caught his pal's shoulder. "It wasn't you," he said firmly. "It's all over. The bruises will be healed and forgotten by tomorrow."

"Not by me," Bucky muttered sadly.

"Now let me look you over," Steve demanded, not taking no for an answer.

Bucky's back had some bruises, none of which looked deep. The worst looking injuries were some cuts on his arm and his neck. Steve dabbed at them with antiseptic from the first aid kit.

"What's this one?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked at the slash on his arm. "The Spider-kid threw Wilson and me through a glass wall. It's just a scratch."

Steve cleaned it, then moved to a scrape on Bucky's neck, which was mostly scabbed over.

"Yesterday's a little blurry still, but I'm pretty sure that happened when some punk pushed my helicopter off a roof."

Steve smiled. "Gotta watch those punks. I hear they're dangerous."

"Yeah, but they make really good friends."


	25. Habitual Criminal

_A/N: Sorry about the late post. I have four or five almost but not quite completed stories and I had a project due this morning, so, sorry.  
Back in Chapter 8, Steve told Sam he and Bucky only had one conversation. So, naturally, I keep thinking of more conversations. So, to save my bacon, what Steve meant was that he and Bucky had only had one conversation where they weren't on the run or prepping for a mission and where Bucky hadn't decided to go into the freezer again. Only one unstressful, normal, buddy-to-buddy conversation. Which isn't this one, by the way. I haven't written that one, because I feel the angst._

* * *

 **Habitual Criminal**

Bucky knew the serum guaranteed Steve would recover fast, not only from physical injuries but from mental anguish and stress, too. But that mental toughness didn't mean that Steve couldn't get low.

"I'm sorry, Steve, but I've got to do it."

"I know, Buck. I understand and I'd never try to stop you from doing what you think is right. It's just ..."

"What?"

"I've made a mess of everything," Steve confessed. "And now I won't even have you to help me out of it. I never intended to break the law, you know."

"Liar," Bucky said fondly. "You're a habitual criminal, Rogers. How many back alley brawls did you get into? How many false names did you use to try to enlist? That could have landed you in the federal pen, pal. And how about your disobeying orders to get the boys and me out of that Hydra prison? Steve Rogers, habitual criminal."

"You can't tell me you didn't intend to defy the Accords," Bucky said. "It's not in you to sit by and let others suffer."

Steve chuckled. "When you put it like that ..." Then his face fell and he sighed. "But I didn't intend to drag everyone down with me. Sam, Wanda Clint and Scott are all in prison because of me."

"What was your plan?"

"Didn't have one. I was blindsided by the Accords. Kinda thought Tony and Pepper were keeping an eye on the politics, but they had other problems. When I heard about the "sign it or retire" clause, I didn't have any time to plan. Peggy died and my mind was on the funeral and one the past — all my regrets and might-have-beens. Then the bombing happened on the day of the funeral and all I could do was react."

"You should have stayed out of it, Steve," Bucky said honestly, though he knew Steve to well to think that was possible.

"I couldn't. I just lost Peggy, I couldn't lose you, too," Steve confessed in a choked voice.

"What would you have done if I hadn't been involved? If Zemo had kept his fingers out of the pie and the UN didn't get bombed?"

"Not get into a fight with a bunch of cops, destroy a major highway and trash an airport," Steve affirmed. "I guess I'd have started with something small — stop a bank robbery, rescue people from a burning building. Invoke the Good Samaritan laws if they challenged me. Bring the Accords to a trial of public opinion. Go to jail for civil disobedience if I had to. Not this. Not me in hiding in a foreign country and my friends in maximum security."

"I'm sorry you got into this mess because of me," Bucky said sadly.

"I'm not," Steve said firmly. "That's the one thing I'm not sorry about. I'm sorry Tony and I never learned how to have a real conversation. I'm sorry I didn't see through Zemo's plot. I'm sorry I got Sam and Clint and Wanda and Scott involved. But I'm not sorry I rescued you. I'm not sorry I kept you from being murdered. I couldn't let them shoot you down with no trial and no evidence. Shoot on sight based on a blurry video! Even if you were guilty, a kill on sight order is wrong."

"But I am guilty, Steve. Not of the UN bombing, but of so many other atrocities."

"I'll tell you again, that wasn't you," Steve insisted. "The fact that you regret what happened proves that you were not in your right mind when you were the Winter Soldier."

"I don't think you could ever prove that," Bucky said sadly. "I'm a murderer and I deserve to be punished."

"Is that why you're doing this? Putting yourself in a cryo-prison?" Steve demanded.

"Maybe. It's part of it, but I hate that I can't control my own mind. A couple of words from Zemo and I was his attack dog. I've tried to kill you twice, Steve. I could never face myself again if I succeeded. Just put me in the freezer and forget about me. There's no hope for Bucky Barnes. People will always only see the assassin, the Winter Soldier. Look at Stark."

Steve couldn't think about Tony right now. Instead he said, "There's always a chance, Bucky. I've done some research about brainwashing and temporary insanity. I'm pretty sure there's enough film and documents to show that you were not responsible for your actions. That other people tortured you and controlled you. You were incapable to knowing what you did was wrong then. That's the very definition of temporary insanity.

"When a party successfully defends criminal charges on a ground of insanity, the consequences vary from jurisdiction to jurisdiction. Usually, the defendant is committed to a mental institution," Steve quoted from an online legal dictionary.

"I'd still be locked up, maybe for my whole life," Bucky said dryly. Because he'd done research, too. He thought he'd found the same online source and quoted the passage that came after, "When a party successfully defends criminal charges on a ground of insanity, the consequences vary from jurisdiction to jurisdiction. Usually, the defendant is committed to a mental institution. On the average, a defendant found not guilty by reason of insanity and committed to a mental institution is confined for twice as long as is a defendant who is found guilty and sent to prison. Very few acquitted insanity defendants are given supervised release, and even fewer are released directly following their verdict."

"Maybe, but if the experts at the mental institution found you sane, you could be out in as little as six months," Steve said. "Depending on what state the trial was in. And," he said with mock thoughtfulness. "Depending on whether you could ever convince someone you aren't crazy."

Bucky slugged Steve. "If I'm crazy, it's because you drove me crazy, Rogers!"

They shoved at each other in brotherly fashion for a moment, then Bucky backed off. He began to have second thoughts about the whole matter. Going into cryo felt right to him. It felt like penance. It felt like safety. But that was just for him.

When he looked at it from Steve's point of view, it felt like abandonment and grief. That was no way to treat his brother.

"Maybe I'm giving up too soon," he said hesitantly.

Steve immediately recognized what his friend was doing and protested Bucky's unselfish sacrifice just as he had done when young Bucky gave up things he liked to do to be with his sickly friend.

Steve gripped his pal's shoulder. "No. Don't do that, Buck. Not for my sake. You want this, right?"

"Yeah," Bucky confessed in a quiet voice. "I can't bear to hurt anyone else. I just can't. Especially not you. I'd feel safer if I can go into cryo. I found out by accident that they have the technology here. And, it felt like the right thing to do."

Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder in comfort. "Then you do what you need to do, pal. I'll be fine. At least I'll know you're staying out of trouble," he joked weakly.

"Punk."

"Jerk."

"I mean it, Buck. It's past time you get to do what you want to do. I'm not selfish enough to stand in your way."

Decision made, Bucky relaxed. "You never were, Steve," he thought. "You never were."

* * *

 _A/N: Of course, Steve is being super optimistic about the 6 months sentence, but this is from the legal dictionary on free dictionary dot com:  
_ _The procedural framework in Massachusetts illustrates the consequences that come with the insanity defense. Under chapter 123, section 16, of the Massachusetts General Laws Annotated, the court may order a person found not guilty by reason of insanity (an insanity acquittee) to be hospitalized for 40 days for observation and examination. During this period, the district attorney or the superintendent of the mental hospital may petition the court to have the insanity acquittee committed to the hospital. If the judge orders the commitment, the acquittee is placed in the hospital for six months.  
_ _After the first six months have expired, the commitment is reviewed again, and then once a year thereafter. If the superintendent of the mental health facility moves to discharge the acquittee, the district attorney must respond with any objections within 30 days of notice from the superintendent. The mental health facility is authorized to restrict the movement of criminal defendants and insanity acquittees, so a commitment is tantamount to incarceration._


	26. Absent Friends

_A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate today. Belated good wishes to my Canadian friends. This is a special holiday post. Saturday will see my first Avengers Christmas Song of the season. Happy holidays!_

* * *

 **Absent Friends**

"I'm thankful I can walk to the Thanksgiving table this year," James Rhodes said. Wearing his Stark Automobility Leg Braces, Rhodey's progress was an awkward combination of hobble and lurch, but it was progress on his own two feet. He triumphantly eased himself into his seat at the table next to Vision and across from Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. "Thanks, Tony. Thanks for everything," Rhodey said with honest gratitude.

"Least I could do, Honeybear. All things considered," Tony said gloomily.

Pepper tapped his hand in mild chastisement. They'd agreed to try keep things lighter, to enjoy the holiday without regrets or recriminations. But it was hard because Thanksgiving was all about family and the Avengers' family had been shattered.

Pepper looked across the small dining table, loaded with all the Thanksgiving favorites: roasted turkey, cornbread dressing, mashed potatoes and green beans (not in casserole). Two kinds of pies were waiting in the kitchen.

"I'm thankful for the kitchen staff who prepared this wonderful feast and I'm thankful we have enough to share, so all the Avengers' staff members have the same feast to eat here or take home to their families. What are you thankful for, Vision?"

The android answered, "I am thankful to be alive and to have a chance to make up for past mistakes."

Vision was thinking of Rhodes and Wanda Maximoff, but his words made Tony think of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. As angry as he had been — still was, sometimes — he hoped the men out of time were all right.

"Mr. Stark?"

Vision's voice woke Tony from his musing.

"Huh?"

"What are you thankful for?" Vision prompted.

"Forgiveness," Tony blurted the honest truth. He looked at his three table companions, all of whom he had wronged at some point, in some way. "I'm thankful to have friends who will forgive me for my many mistakes — both at this table and elsewhere," he finished, thinking of that darned flip phone and Steve's message of reconciliation.

Tony raised his wine glass. "To friends near and far."

"To friends," the others answered.

* * *

Though the old homestead had seemed undiscovered, Clint Barton chose to move his family to another off-the-books property — better safe than sorry. The new farm was large, giving the kids room to play and Clint room for advanced surveillance equipment.

Because the Barton family in the Midwest held their holiday feast at suppertime instead of dinnertime, they were sitting down at just about the same time as the group in New York.

A larger group had gathered at the Bartons'. The family, including "Cousin Wanda" and "Auntie Nat," was joined by Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Sharon Carter. Everyone worked together to prepare the feast. Even Cooper and Lila helped, tearing up bread for the dressing and decorating cookies. There was good conversation and lots of laughter throughout the day, culminating in a satisfying meal.

"To your first Thanksgiving on the run!" Clint toasted with a coffee cup, after the children had gone to watch "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving."

"Not mine," Natasha said and reminded him of that time in Bratislava.

"Not mine either," Steve said, surprising the others. He shrugged. "The Nazis had us on the run one year. We didn't have Thanksgiving dinner until December 3rd."

"I was undercover one year, escaping from a gang of gunrunners," Sharon volunteered. "I didn't even realize it was Thanksgiving until the next day. I had a Snickers bar and a Coke from a vending machine for my holiday meal."

"Does being in a war zone count as 'on the run'?" Sam asked. "Riley and I rescued a downed pilot and escaped after a firefight. But we did get back to base in time for turkey."

"I think war zones count," Wanda said. "I have only celebrated American Thanksgiving once, last year, but Pietro and I lived in a war zone for many Sokovian holidays. We were always ducking and hiding."

"I withdraw my toast," Clint said, pulling his cup back to his chest. Everyone chuckled, then Wanda sighed.

"I remember my first Thanksgiving last year. Stark and I came to an understanding and reconciled with each other — and now we are at odds with each other again."

Sam poked at the remains of the mashed potatoes on his plate. "I wonder how they're doing — Rhodey and Tony."

"And Vision," Wanda added sadly.

"Just because you're arguing, doesn't mean you're not still friends," Laura said in true Mom fashion. "Earth's mightiest heroes can't sulk like kids on a playground."

"Not sulking," Clint sulked.

Laura punched him and he laughed.

"The Avengers are not my enemies," Steve said firmly. "I hope they're having a happy Thanksgiving." He lifted his coffee cup in a toast, "To absent friends!"

"To absent friends!" the others saluted.

"And God bless us every one," Clint added with a smart aleck smirk.

* * *

 _A/N: The Thanksgiving Wanda mentions is Chapter 14 of my story "The Back Porch."_


	27. Break In

_A/N: This chapter comes before Chapter 6, "Break Out," but read "Break Out" first, or this will give away some of the surprises._

* * *

 **Break In**

While Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff and T'Challa looked on, Sharon Carter pointed at a rough diagram she'd drawn of the super maximum security supervillain prison that now contained four of their friends.

"The Raft is basically an oversized nuclear submarine shaped like a hockey puck," she said.

"Hockey puck?" T'Challa asked at the same moment Natasha said, "Nuclear?"

They looked at each other and the spy gestured for the king to take precedence, since he was her host. Sharon started to explain what a hockey puck was, but T'challa held up his hand to stop her.

"I have seen the sport," he said. "The Canadian prime minister was kind enough to take my father and me to a game.

The battle was fierce. I think my people would appreciate the sport ..." He looked out the window at the steam rising from the sun-warmed jungle. "... if we had more ice." He returned his gaze to Sharon. "I just wondered why a submersible was such a non-aerodynamic — non-hydrodynamic? — shape."

"It was designed by a committee," Natasha said dryly. "A government committee."

"Originally, it was meant to be a research station that would submerge just below wave turbulence," Sharon explained. "After the fall of shield, the UN took it over and converted it to a prison. They needed somewhere to put the enhanced criminals who escaped from the Fridge during the Hydra uprising.

"Councilwoman Hawley gave the UN access to SHIELD's capital accounts. She was the only survivor of the World Security Council," she told T'Challa.

"And she never thanked me," Natasha said, shaking her head sadly.

Steve smiled. "Nat, you drugged her, took her clothes and left her tied up in a storage unit in her underwear."

"Some people are very resistant to being rescued," Natasha said earnestly.

The others chuckled.

"Why are they nuclear powered?" Natasha asked.

"They wanted arc reactors, but after what happened with the Insight helicarriers, Stark refused to sell."

"He's been known to have a good idea once in awhile," Natasha said with a nod.

Sharon continued. "The Raft is both a prison, to keep people from getting out, and a military base, to keep people from getting in. Its main protection is that it spends most of its time underwater — particularly effective in foiling escapes. But this strength is also a weakness.

"Because of it's shape, the Raft can't descend as deep as a submarine could, but it goes deep enough that most people would need diving gear to reach it — gear that would be detected by the Raft's super sensitive sensors. They can detect a quarter from half a mile away."

"The Raft submerges by filling enormous ballast chambers with water and surfaces by pumping air into the chambers to force the water out. It rises to the surface every morning at dawn — weather permitting — to refresh the air and admit a supply helicopter. They let the prisoners sleep until after The Raft submerges again."

"Risky to stick to a schedule," Steve said.

Sharon shrugged. "There are plusses and minuses. Maybe attackers can predict the time of surfacing …"

"Like we're doing," Natasha pointed out, getting a nod from Sharon.

"But also The Raft's headquarters will respond to any variation from the schedule, so help would be on the way quickly," Sharon said.

"That's a lot of details to remember. Are you sure?" Steve asked.

"Sharon has a well-trained memory," Natasha pointed out.

"I wasn't thinking of that," Steve said. "I was wondering why she had a chance to learn all this."

"When I was with the task force, we were invited to tour The Raft. Everett Ross was his usual condescending self. He got bored listening to the technical details, so our guide made sure to get really technical. I think he was flirting with me. Anyway, we were bonding over annoying Ross," Sharon said with a smile.

"Now, the prisoners from the Fridge are housed in Cellblock Gamma." Sharon pointed to the northernmost quadrant of The Raft."

"The captured Avengers are housed in Cellblock Alpha," T'Challa contributed, pointing to the southernmost quadrant.

Natasha and T'Challa had been briefed about the Raft. T'Challa in particular had been forced to listen to Secretary Ross boasting about how he'd locked up the rogue Avengers in Cellblock Alpha.

Not realizing she'd need the information later, Sharon had asked about procedures in case of a jailbreak during her tour. The others were grateful for what Sharon modestly called her pernicious nosiness.

"But how do we get Steve on board?" Natasha asked.

Steve had been on submarines, even back in the 1940s. He pointed at the ballast outlets on the computer diagram. "Can we find out what the water pressure is on the pumps?"

Sharon closed her eyes, picturing the seaman who had given the tour. She saw his broad shoulders and slicked-back hair, heard his nasal Texas twang, and rattled off the facts and figures he'd given about the ballast chambers. Using that information, the team made calculations and determined the strength of the current.

Steve nodded. "I can do that," he said with satisfaction.

Steve had found his way in.

* * *

Only the most experienced free diver would be able to reach the submerged Raft without equipment — a free diver or a Super Soldier.

Because The Raft was most vulnerable when it surfaced, that's when all the troops gathered en masse on the upper levels to guard against invasion.

Naturally, that was when Captain America chose to attack — from below!

* * *

Coated with vibranium, which absorbed and transmuted energy, T'Challa's stealth jet was virtually impossible to detect by instruments. Hidden in a cloudbank a mile from the Raft, invisible to the eye, the jet hovered over open ocean.

"It's a good thing you never use a parachute," Natasha Romanoff smirked.

"I use a parachute over land," Steve Rogers protested. "You've seen me use a parachute," he accused.

She shrugged, unconcerned about the truth of her accusations or his.

"In this case, it is valuable that Steve has no parachute nor any metallic diving gear," T'Challa said.

"Just a vibranium crowbar," Sharon Carter said in disbelief. "I can't even believe you have a vibranium crowbar," she told the Wakandan king.

He simply shrugged. Vibranium was easy to come by in Wakanda, especially for the king.

* * *

Wearing a scuba diver's dry suit over street clothes and carrying his undetectable vibranium crowbar in a sheath on his back, Steve dropped like a stone from the hidden jet. He swam easily toward the Raft's position, looking like nothing more than a wandering sea lion on the prison's sensors.

His timing was perfect. He arrived just as the Raft began to rise. As it neared the surface, Steve dove, locating one of the tubes that was using air pressure to expel the water ballast. He tore away the mesh designed to keep out sealife then, fighting the fierce current, Steve swam upstream into the tube where he braced himself until the water level dropped and the opening closed. He chimney-climbed out of the tube and into the huge, air-filled ballast chamber.

He took off his dry suit for better range of motion, took his crowbar in hand and began to study the exit mechanism.

The builders had not forgotten to put a locking bar across the outside of the maintenance hatch that closed off the ballast chamber. Not that they expected anyone to break in that way, but they wanted to be thorough. The bar wouldn't stop Cap and his vibranium crowbar, but that would attract too much attention.

Steve turned the wheel on the hatch back and forth, back and forth rapidly several times. When he opened it, there was a small gap before the bar stopped the hatch from opening. Steve poked the tip of the crowbar through the gap and snapped the door sensor.

* * *

On the bridge, a technician saw the sensor light flicker from green to red several times, then go out entirely. He tapped the light futilely, then reported a bad sensor to the captain.

It wasn't a suspicious circumstance. The Raft was new technology and bugs kept showing up. But it was a problem, because the Raft would not, could not, submerge until all sensors showed green. No one wanted to pump water into the ballast tank if the hatch was ajar.

The captain dispatched a man to repair the fault. He reported that the hatch was still dogged and locked.

"Must be a bad sensor," he reported, making the captain and the bridge technician roll their eyes.

"The fix it," the captain barked. He turned his attention back to the transfer of supplies, which was a critical operation and perilous, because the Raft was more vulnerable on the surface. It was much more important than a broken sensor.

The repair tech wisely shut up. He removed the locking bar, opened the hatch and stepped through. If anyone had been looking, they might have wondered at the speed he went through the door, helped by a Super Soldier's grip on his collar.

With the tech zip-tied and gagged, Cap turned his attention to the man's tablet, which gave him access to all the Raft's systems. Steve didn't even have to break in, because the tech was already properly logged in.

* * *

There was a persistent myth among SHIELD agents — which spread to other agencies during the SHIELD diaspora — that Captain America was hopeless with technology. Steve would admit he had been at first — 70 years was a lot to catch up on. But when he moved to D.C. to become a full-time SHIELD agent, Steve studied. He learned. But Steve still preferred to read books and newspapers and take notes with pen and paper. And, as a tactical specialist, dealing with technology on missions was usually assigned to someone else, so the rumor persisted.

But it was wrong.

Steve could break into computers, especially when he'd had a thorough briefing _ **.**_

When Sharon toured the Raft, she learned about the extra precautions when it surfaced. It had been Everett Ross who had nervously joked about the possibility of submerging with the doors still open. The captain had reassured him with a thorough description of all the safeguards in place.

The plotters had agreed that, if Steve could get his hands on a repair tech's tablet, he could play havoc with the Raft's systems.

* * *

The repair technicians had to be able to shut down systems to work on them. They had to be able to test alarms and equipment. With the technician's tablet, Steve had control. He fought a smile. It was better than one of those videogames Clint loved. The archer always said they were good training. This proved his point and Steve would be certain to tell him when he saw him — in just a few minutes.

"Leaving," Natasha's voice said in Steve's ear.

As the supply helicopter lifted off, The Raft sent a signal to its headquarters on shore. It would be 15 minutes until its next scheduled check in.

Steve cut the Raft's external communications; then, before the captain could get impatient because the tech hadn't finished repairs on the ballast tank's sensors, Steve sounded the alarm for a riot in Cellblock Gamma, the opposite quadrant from the Avengers' cellblock.

When the alarm sounded, the men who had been guarding the transfer of supplies, immediately ran to Gamma and swarmed into the sector. The guards there looked up in alarm at the invasion.

Everything was calm and peaceful in Cellblock Gamma. The lights were still dimmed in nighttime protocols. To limit trouble, The Raft let its prisoners sleep until after the dawn supply transfer was complete and The Raft submerged again.

The guards milled about, wondering if this was a drill. As the prisoners in their cells began to wake, the heavy doors shut behind the guards, locking them in the cellblock.

"Close the blast doors!" Steve murmured to himself. "Close the blast doors!"

When they realized what was happening, the prisoners began to laugh at the guards who were now imprisoned, too.

They tried to call the bridge, of course, but Steve had cut all internal communications by then. All the internal cameras, too.

With the riot alarm, all the sectors had been locked down. Except for the responding guards, everyone had to stay in place until the alarm passed. Nobody could move through the corridors, except Steve Rogers.

He flew through the corridors, knocking out every confused crewman who had been caught in between compartments.

"What the hell is going on? Get communications back!" ordered The Raft captain, as Steve burst onto the bridge. One guard got off a shot. Steve raised his arm as if he had his shield and the bullet deflected off his crowbar.

Steve caught the guard by his throat and threw him across the room into a female guard. Their heads met with a hollow thud and they dropped in a tangled heap.

Steve leaped the control panel, kicking out in each direction to knock out the two men sitting there, then he landed in front of the shocked captain.

"Rogers!"

An image of Brock Rumlow skittered across Steve's memory. "Sorry, captain. Nothing personal," Steve said, and knocked the captain out with a carefully judged punch.

* * *

As soon as the supply helicopter flew out of sight, but before The Raft crew could close the hangar roof, the Wakandan stealth jet sped out of the clouds. Only two guards who happened to be looking that direction saw the shadowy shape coming. In their shock, they had no chance to shout a warning before it dropped gas bombs into the hangar.

The jet hovered. Natasha dropped five feet to the deck wearing a gas mask but no parachute. Unhampered by her restricted vision, she mowed through the coughing, wheezing guards like a scythe through ripe grain.

Sharon assisted, sniping with an icer rifle from the cargo door of the hover jet. Nat didn't really need the help, but it made the process go faster.

When the deck was clear, T'Challa landed. Sharon leapt off to join Natasha in the already-dispersing cloud of gas.

"Deck secured," Sharon reported.

"Bridge secured," Steve replied.

Natasha and Sharon joined Steve on the bridge. Together the Avengers locked down the prison, leaving clear paths to Cellblock Alpha and to the storage area where the Avengers' gear was stowed.

Most of The Raft staff had no idea a prison break was in progress. Men in the barracks were still asleep, because Steve had made sure no alarms sounded there. Guards in other compartments were patiently waiting for the lockdown to be lifted once the alarm — now identified as a drill — was finished.

Cameras showed The Raft was quiet, except for the futile uproar in Cellblock Gamma.

"Nice work, Rogers," Natasha complimented.

"I had a good teacher," Steve said with a smile.

"Quit taking bows and go rescue our friends," Natasha ordered with a frown.

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" Steve replied with a snappy salute. He took off at a run.

Natasha transferred her frown to Sharon.

"I'll get the gear," Sharon volunteered hastily, also running out.

Order restored, Natasha nodded to herself and began to delve into the computers.

When Steve reached Cellblock Alpha, Natasha opened the door for him.

"Drill over?" a guard asked without taking his eyes off the monitors that showed the sleeping Avengers.

"All done," Steve answered.

The guard looked up, startled by the unfamiliar voice, and received a fist in the face. As he tumbled backwards, his partner charged Steve, her stun gun crackling. The Super Soldier sidestepped her as if she were wading through molasses, caught her hand and slammed her into the bulkhead. He caught her and laid her gently on the floor.

"I'll beat that chivalry out of you one day," Natasha said in his ear. Steve gave the camera a salute, then entered the cellblock.

* * *

Though the cellblock lights hadn't gone on, Sam Wilson woke at his usual time. Because of the curve of the cellblock, he could see Wanda Maximoff, apparently uncomfortably asleep in her straightjacket. He could see Clint Barton, too, as long as the archer was at the far side of his cell. Clint was lying on his bunk with his eyes closed, but there was an air of readiness about him that suggested he was awake already. Sam couldn't see Scott Lang — only Wanda had a view of the Avengers newcomer and she couldn't tell the others how he was doing. Sam didn't hear any of the drumming or soft singing Scott used to tell the other men he was still fine, so he assumed the new guy was still asleep.

Movement out of the darkness caught Sam's eye. He blinked. He blinked again, but the apparition didn't vanish. Then Sam smiled.

"About time, Rogers!" Sam said.

* * *

 _A/N: Now you can read "Break Out" again. Not sure what I'll run next week. I have chapters of A Very Good Team and Back Porch finished and I'm trying to think of a Christmas story, so, just keep an eye out next Saturday. And look for Avengers Christmas Songs at random intervals, too._


	28. The Singing Holiday

**The Singing Holiday**

Holidays are about celebrating a religious, cultural or national milestone. They're about spending time with family and friends. But each holiday has its own peculiar flavor, you might say.

Halloween is about candy and spooking people. Fourth of July is about flags and fireworks. Thanksgiving is about feasting.

Christmas is about singing. No other holiday has so many songs dedicated to it — religious and secular. No other holiday has so many TV specials and stage shows and church concerts dedicated to music. No other holiday bombards you with its music when you go grocery shopping. No other holiday invites groups to go around and harass their neighbors by singing outside their doors demanding figgy pudding.

Christmas expresses its religious origins in song, along with peace on earth, goodwill toward others, romantic love and unabashed commercialism. All in song.

Christmas is the singing holiday. And those songs strike a chord with those who listen.

* * *

Col. James Rhodes wheeled up to the VA for his regular therapy appointment.

"Hey, a messenger dropped off a package for you," the motherly woman at the front desk said.

The package was just the right size to be a CD jewel case and was wrapped in Christmas paper featuring Iron Man wearing a Santa hat. The note attached read, "Some holiday music to share with your friends. Love, Your Secret Santa."

The capital S's were decorated with curlicues. Rhodey suspected he knew who the two S's might be, especially since one had visited him at the VA center.

"Secret Santa, how cute," the woman said.

"And sneaky," Rhodey agreed and put the small package in his gym bag until he finished his torture session at the VA. Later, back at the Avengers facility, he opened the gift with Tony Stark and Vision present and Friday operating the strongest privacy shields she possessed. They debated inviting Spider-man, but it was difficult making contact with the kid without arousing his aunt's curiosity. So they planned to show him at his next regularly scheduled "internship meeting."

The present was in fact a CD decorated with a neatly drawn holly leaf and red berries surrounded by music notes.

* * *

"What have we got here, Friday?" Tony asked.

"It seems to be just what it appears to be, boss. A compact disc of musical selections with a few smaller tracks that appear to be spoken messages, at least, the first one is labeled, 'Greeting from Sam.' Shall I play it?"

"Will it self-destruct in 30 seconds?"

"Highly unlikely," Friday said dryly. " Though Agent Barton does strongly resemble one of the Mission Impossible actors."

"Just play it, Friday," Rhodey said, rolling his eyes.

* * *

She started the CD and they heard Sam Wilson's voice.

"I wanted to make an old-fashioned mix tape so Tony Stark would have to search for an old-fashioned cassette player, but Cap said that didn't fit the spirit of reconciliation, in which this is meant. So, happy holidays everyone."

The second track featured Sam and Steve Rogers harmonizing on "Good Christian Friends Rejoice" — Tony snorted, "Subtle, Rogers," but listened attentively — followed by Steve's solo "White Christmas" and Sam's solo "Go Tell It on the Mountain," which had Rhodey tapping his toe. (The Stark mobility leg braces were amazing.)

The fifth track had a change of voices. "Is that the Barton family?" Rhodey asked, recognizing two voices, Clint's and Natasha's.

Tony just shushed him impatiently.

The family sang "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," with Cooper throwing in extra comments: "…you would even say it glows" "Like a light bulb!" It made Tony snicker, remembering singing it just that way and annoying his dad.

The carolers were followed by a hesitant but complete piano rendition of "Jingle Bells."

"Must be the little girl," Tony commented, wistfully thinking of his mother's much more accomplished piano performances.

Then Cooper and Lila joined in a rendition of "I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas." It was sung with verve and punctuated by giggle fits. It made all the listeners smile, even Vision.

The Barton section wrapped up with a family chorus of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

"We wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!" they concluded with a flourish.

"And we really mean that," Clint said.

"Merry Christmas and happier new year than the one past," Natasha added.

"God bless you!" Laura called. The children yelled "Merry Christmas!" and the track ended.

The next track was a surprise. Wanda Maximoff performed a credible rendition of "Santa Baby," with an over-the-top sexy voice that made Rhodey and Tony howl with laughter, and then try to smother those howls, because Vision sternly said he wanted to hear the song. They played that track twice to allow Vision to catch every nuance that he had missed.

After Wanda they heard a hesitant, "Is this thing on?"

"Who's that?" Rhodey asked, puzzled.

"I believe that's Mr. Lang," Vision offered.

"Oh, the shrinking guy," Tony agreed.

Scott gave an enthusiastic rendition of "Frosty the Snowman," adding thigh-slapping drumbeats for extra "thumpety thump thumps."

"Merry Christmas, Avengers," he finished. Followed by, "How do I turn this thing off?" before the track ended.

"Isn't he an electrical engineer?" Tony asked in disbelief.

"That doesn't mean a recorder is easy to operate," Rhodey said. "He probably used a Stark recorder. They're ridiculously complicated."

Tony jabbed at his friend with a pen. Rhodey deflected the weapon with the jewel case.

"Gentlemen," Vision said sternly, trying to summon Captain America's "stop fooling around" tone.

The next track went back to Steve. "This song came out of the American Civil War, so it seems appropriate for what the newspapers are calling the Avengers Civil War. I believe that we all wanted to do the right thing, we just disagreed on how to get there. I believe we will get there eventually."

Then Steve sang, "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day":

I heard the bells on Christmas day  
Their old familiar carols play,  
And wild and sweet the words repeat  
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head  
"There is no peace on earth," I said,  
"For hate is strong and mocks the song  
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:  
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;  
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail  
With peace on earth, good will to men."

* * *

"The wrong shall fail, the right prevail with peace on earth, good will to men," Steve repeated, speaking with emphasis.

Then Sam began "Joy to the World" and Steve joined in. The two former Avengers belted out the song, finishing by saying "Merry Christmas, Tony. Merry Christmas, Rhodey. Merry Christmas, Vision. Merry Christmas, Spider-kid and anyone else serving as an Avenger. Merry Christmas, Friday! Happy holidays, everyone!"

The AI promptly saved a copy of that track deep in her private server. The captain had remembered her! No one had ever wished her a Merry Christmas before.

Tony found the concert unexpectedly enjoyable. Though he suspected both Sam and Steve had some small training in church choirs, no one on the CD had a professional voice. That was all to the good as far as Tony was concerned. It meant there were no show-offy warbling yodels like you heard spoiling the national anthem during baseball games.

But everyone who sang had a pleasing voice. The kids were cute, enthusiastic and slightly off key (which was appropriate), and Wanda had a smoky quality to her voice that was perfect for the Eartha Kitt classic. It was nice, yet something was off about the whole experience.

Tony frowned, trying to pinpoint what was bothering him.

"That was pleasant," Vision ventured.

"Yes, it was," Rhodey sighed. "Wish we could reciprocate."

"I think I will reciprocate by supporting the captain's favorite charity, the children's hospital," Vision said thoughtfully.

"Good call," Rhodey said. "Wilson helped out at the disabled veterans foundation. They have a Christmas party for their kids. That's a natural for me. Tony?"

"Huh?" Tony looked up from his contemplation of the CD. Rhodey explained what he and Vision planned.

"Did Agent Barton have a preferred charity?" Vision asked.

"Foster kids," Tony answered promptly. "He was an orphan in the system once. I'll do something for the kids. Maybe they'd like a trip to the zoo or, oh!, a shopping spree. Or both; I think both." The over-the-top planning was familiar, but Rhodey heard something odd in Tony's voice.

"What's bothering you?" he asked.

"I was wondering … we heard Rogers, Wilson, Barton, Romanoff, Maximoff and that growing-shrinking guy. But we didn't hear Barnes. You don't think I killed him, do you?" Tony was surprised to realize that would bother him.

"I doubt Steve would send you a Christmas present if you'd killed his best friend," Rhodey said dryly. "Maybe they didn't want to upset you by having him sing. This was a peace offering, after all."

"Maybe, but … I've got a bad feeling about this. I wonder what happened to Barnes?"

* * *

 _A/N: This story has gotten entirely out of hand. I have the ending written, but the middle keeps expanding. So I'll give you part one now and I hope to have part two ready on Christmas Eve. And then you'll probably get another Christmas story for New Years Eve, because I'd started a different story when this one attacked me and held my muse hostage.  
A couple of notes: "Good Christian Friends Rejoice" is the PC version of "Good Christian Men Rejoice." Steve chose to use the version that emphasized "friends."  
And Vision's mention of the children's hospital is a direct reference to last year's Christmas story "Top Secret Santa," part of the Back Porch anthology._


	29. The Singing Holiday, part 2

_A/N: Some of the questions asked by reviewers of the last chapter will be answered here. This is really where the story begins. The story includes references to the current season of Agents of SHIELD, but is not super spoilery._

* * *

 **The Singing Holiday, Part 2**

Steve saw a flier about a Christmas concert at a church near their hideout and, after some debate, he, Sharon and Sam decided it was safe to attend.

Sharon had bobbed her hair, dying it black in the back, with festive red bangs. She had an applique sleeve tattoo on her left arm and wore an off-the-shoulder blouse that showed it off.

Steve had dyed his hair a light brown and combed it over in a hipster style. He had a neatly trimmed beard and mustache to match and wore brown contacts and dark-framed glasses. He had a white Christmas sweater vest with a Christmas tree design.

Sam had shaved off his hair, beard and mustache, which made him seem older and even more good-natured. He proudly wore an ugly Christmas sweater showing Rudolph's face with a red nose that flashed on and off when you pressed a switch.

They looked nothing like the fugitive Avengers who, in any case, had fallen pretty far down the list of Enhanced threats, what with an earthquake-causing Inhuman and guy with a flaming head dominating the attention of the newscasters in Southern California.

The fugitives enjoyed the first half of the concert and stayed in their seats during the brief intermission while the stage was rearranged.

"Bucky would have loved this," Steve said wistfully. "We always went to as many church concerts as we could manage — partly because they were free, partly because we loved the music." He pointed at the program. "They're going to finish up with 'Joy to the World.' That was Bucky's favorite."

Sam knew Steve was thinking about Bucky a lot, because of the holidays. He'd wanted to go to Wakanda just to be nearby, but the resurrection of SHIELD and a big fuss from the Watchdogs had made traveling just too dangerous. He'd like to send Bucky some kind of gift, but what do you get for the guy who's frozen solid?

And then Sam had an idea.

"Save my seat," he said, then he hurried over to the choir director, who was supervising setting up the handbell table. Sam spoke to the man, who listened carefully, then nodded and pointed at bench near the front. The youngest children's choir had been sitting there, but they'd finished their part and were on their way home to bed. Sam gestured imperiously for his friends to join him.

"I thought we were being inconspicuous," Sharon said quietly, plastering a smile on her face.

"Nobody's looking for us here," Sam soothed. "And this bench puts our backs to the entire audience."

"What did you tell the choir director, and why?" Steve asked.

"I asked if we could record a couple of the songs to send to our friend who is in a hospital overseas."

"Sam!"

"Lying in church. Tsk tsk," Sharon said.

"There is not an untrue word in that entire sentence," Sam defended himself. "Mr. Calhoun gave his OK and said we should sit here, because the sound will be better. Look, the scientists think Barnes might be able to hear things while he's in cryo. That's why they gave you an intercom to talk to him. So if we send T'Challa a CD, he can have it played for Barnes, so Barnes can have a little Christmas cheer."

"Well, it couldn't hurt," Sharon agreed.

So they recorded the last two hymns on the program. "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear" made Steve sigh when it came to the part about "beneath life's crushing load" and he definitely had Bucky on his mind when it came to the end of the verse with "O rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing." The concert finished up with a vigorous version of "Joy to the World" that put a smile back on Steve's face.

"Thank you, sir," Steve told Calhoun after the concert. "This will mean a lot to Jim."

"Always glad to help our veterans," Calhoun said, but he was starting to have second thoughts about these people and their friend overseas. Why didn't they just call him or Skype him, instead of burning a CD?

Sharon the spy saw the doubts cross the man's face. "He's in a coma," she blurted.

The choir director might have thought this was a fabrication, except for the way Steve instantly flinched and Sam's hand squeezed his friend's shoulder in too-well-practiced comfort.

Steve took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, carefully replacing them while apologizing. "He's my best friend," he explained.

"The doctors said he might be able to hear us when we talked to him, so we thought we could send some Christmas music so he wouldn't feel alone," Sam supplied.

"We were in choir together when we were kids," Steve said. His eyes were on the candles, but his thoughts were far away.

Immediately, Calhoun was entirely on the side of these poor souls who were suffering during the holidays.

"So, you plan to burn a CD with that?" he asked Sam, who agreed. "You might want to add a personal touch. Sing a few personal carols of your own," the choir director suggested. "It doesn't matter if you're not great singers. If you sing from the heart, your friend will appreciate the gesture even more. And the familiar voices may help him."

"That's a great idea," Sam said, already plotting his playlist in his mind. "We can get all Jim's friends to sing a song for him."

"Thank you doubly for the suggestion," Sharon said, when Steve seemed speechless.

"You're very welcome. Merry Christmas," he said, then turned back to the work of disassembling the set.

* * *

All their roundabout way back to the small apartment they called home, Steve considered Calhoun's words. Sending a gift of music to his friend seemed like a better and better idea the more he thought about it. An audio gift was the only thing Bucky could (maybe) enjoy in his current state.

"I want to do it," he told the others. "It's kinda familiar. We didn't have much money when I was a kid, or even when I was an adult. Neither Bucky nor I could bake as well as our mothers did, either. So we went caroling as a gift to our families and neighbors." Steve grinned at the memory. "Not sure how great a gift it was. Bucky had a good voice, but mine was always a little squeaky with the asthma and all. Still, it made people smile to be remembered. And, about that ... We could record the messages and the songs separately, couldn't we, Sam?"

"Sure, why?"

"I thought maybe we could burn a CD for Tony and the other official Avengers — a gesture of reconciliation at Christmas. Of course, we wouldn't want the same messages," Steve said.

Sam frowned thoughtfully. He missed the other Avengers and didn't hold their actions against them. He was the one who willingly followed Steve to the wrong side of the law.

"Not a bad idea, but there are some things we don't want to share with Stark and Rhodes. Not because I don't trust them personally, but they might be forced to act if the CD falls into unfriendly hands."

"Do we trust them personally?" Sharon asked.

"Tentatively," Sam answered. "Because of what they haven't done."

"Vision can connect with the Internet. Between him and Friday, they could track us down if they made an effort, now that we're outside the Wakandan dead zone," Steve explained.

"But they haven't made that effort." Sharon understood.

"Anyway, if the Avengers do try to find us, there's no point making it easy on them," Sam said. "We have to be careful what we record and how we send the gift."

"Why don't we see what Clint and Natasha say about it," Sharon suggested. The former SHIELD agents were the acknowledged experts in covert communications.

* * *

"Singing for Barnes, I can understand. What else can we do for the poor guy?" Clint said over the secure video link. "But Tony?"

"I think it's a good idea," Natasha said firmly. She sat next to Clint on the nondescript couch to share the laptop. Wanda stood behind the couch, looking between other two. Natasha continued, "We had a fight with our friends, now we want to make up. This sounds like a nicely sappy holiday way to do it. And on a purely practical note, anything we can do to alleviate any guilt Tony feels is important. His guilt always causes us problems in the long run."

"When you put it like that, OK," Clint agreed. "I miss those crazy kids, too. But we need to take precautions. There are some things we don't want to broadcast, like the fact that Wanda's here, living with my family."

Natasha nodded. "So she can sing a separate song."

"Ooh, I heard a funny one the other day, about a girl asking Santa for expensive gifts. Sounds perfect for Stark," Wanda said. "Rhodey would think it was funny."

"'Santa Baby'," Clint identified the song. "We'll get you the lyrics so you can practice. What about you, Nat?"

"I don't think it would be a surprise that 'Auntie Nat' would visit the Bartons for Christmas," Natasha answered. "So I can join in on the family carols."

"No solo?" Sam teased.

"I might sing one for Barnes — in Russian. I'm sure Stark can do without a solo from me."

"Me, too. But my kids would enjoy performing. Lila's been practicing 'Jingle Bells' on the piano," Clint said.

"Cooper loves those silly songs, the one about the red-nosed reindeer and the one about the hippopotamus," Wanda giggled.

"There's a Christmas song about a hippopotamus?" Steve asked in surprise.

"You'll hear it," Clint promised. "And then you'll be very sorry. You'll never get that beast out of your mind."

They planned their playlist, then Steve, Sam and Sharon laid out what they intended to sing.

"Under no circumstances should Sharon sing on the CD for Stark," Natasha said firmly. "We haven't seen any indication that they know she's joined up with us. That makes you and Sam safer, too, because the authorities are looking for two guys, not a couple and a friend."

"Agreed," Sharon said. "But I do want to sing for Bucky. Even though he wouldn't recognize my voice."

"And I'll call Tic-Tac, see if he wants to do a song," Sam said. "He's part of the group now, whether he wants to be or not."

"I think we should have a different ending for Bucky than for Tony," Steve added.

"That's up to you, Steve. This is your baby," Natasha said kindly.

"Well, it was Sam's idea," Steve demurred.

"Yeah, but you know Barnes and Stark the best. I'll follow your lead," Sam said.

Sharon snorted. "As usual."

* * *

A CD wended its way to Wakanda by hidden ways. Many of the music tracks were the same as the one that went to Rhodes and Stark, but all the messages were different.

The package was addressed to T'Challa. The enclosed note indicated the CD was a Christmas gift for Bucky Barnes, but was not private. "Anyone who knows about Bucky is welcome to listen if they don't mind amateur singers," read the note in Steve Rogers hand.

The first track began, "Hey, Bucky. It's Steve. I was hoping to spend Christmas with you this year, but there's a strong anti-Enhanced push right now and it's not safe to cross the ocean. See, I'm trying to not do anything else stupid." Steve spoke with a brightness that didn't fool anyone, but was a credible effort. "We made this CD for you so you wouldn't feel alone on this holiday. We're always thinking about you, pal."

"After we started this for you, we decided to make a copy for Stark and his team, a gesture of reconciliation for Christmas. Sam did a great job swapping tracks around before he burned the two CDs. All the messages are different, of course, and we did a couple of songs two ways. We didn't want anyone to know that Wanda was at the Bartons, so she sang a solo song for Tony's CD. It's pretty funny. I think you'll like it. And as far as we know, no one knows that Sharon joined us in exile, so she didn't sing on Tony's CD at all. Not that I don't trust them, but just in case the CD falls into unfriendly hands.

"The first songs are from a church concert we went to. I remember how much we enjoyed the Christmas music at church, partly because it was free. Then you'll get our amateur caroling. It may not be great, but you'll know it's heartfelt."

* * *

After the church singers, finished Bucky's CD went to Steve, Sam and Sharon singing "O Come All Ye Faithful" in English, with Steve soloing in Latin for one verse. Sharon's clear soprano added an extra dimension to the guys' efforts. Not that they sounded bad in their "Good Christian Friends Rejoice" duet.

"White Christmas" from Steve was particularly poignant to him, because he remembered hearing it during the war. Sam's "Go Tell It on the Mountain" was followed by Sharon's "Angels We Have Heard on High."

The Bartons' set was rearranged to put Wanda's "Santa Baby" in the middle, along with Natasha singing a Russian folk song about a snow maiden.

Their finale featured a different version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" with Wanda joining Natasha, Clint, Laura and the kids, and Nathaniel happily burbling "merry, merry, merry, merry" in the background.

Clint was still laughing, when he spoke the family's greeting. "Best wishes from the Barton family, Barnes. We want you to know you haven't been forgotten and we hope for a happier new year for you next year."

After Scott's performance of "Frosty the Snowman" came Steve's "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day."

"The wrong shall fail, the right prevail with peace on earth, good will to men," Steve said firmly, as if he had no doubt.

Sam and Steve sang Bucky's favorite hymn, "Joy to the World," and then Sharon joined them for "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

Steve had elbowed Sam and grinned at Sharon when they got to the line, "Faithful friends who are dear to us, gather near to us, once more." They both rolled their eyes at him.

Finally, Steve did the introduction to the last song on the CD. "This is not a Christmas song, Buck, but it's the most Christian song I know.

"Every time I sing it, it has a new meaning for me. It meant one thing when I was a scrawny, sickly kid who was likely to die before he was old enough to vote. It meant something else when I was on the battlefield. It seemed darned ironic when I woke alone in the 21st century but now I see it as a promise, Buck. A promise for you and for me. We were lost, but now we're found."

* * *

And Steve began to sing "Amazing Grace":

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,  
That saved a wretch like me.  
I once was lost but now I'm found,  
Was blind, but now I see.

'Twas Grace that taught, my heart to fear.  
And grace, my fears relieved.  
How precious did that grace appear,  
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares,  
I have already come.  
'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far,  
And grace will lead us home.

"Sounds like the story of our lives, pal. We've come so far already. We'll get home eventually. Merry Christmas, Bucky," Steve concluded.

* * *

T'Challa was not ashamed to admit the sentiment of the music brought tears to his eyes. He wanted to do something for his friends in exile, so he recorded Wakanda's annual Solstice Festival Concert — which included children's choirs from churches, schools and youth groups. Some of them even sang songs in English, thanks to King T'Chaka's initiative to encourage learning English and French, two of the U.N.'s official languages.

T'Challa made sure the concert was piped directly to the cryo chamber and he sent copies of the recording to the others in America. With the solstice concert on Dec. 21, T'Challa thought there was just enough time to get the CD to Steve by Christmas. He wanted Steve to understand that the Wakandans hadn't forgotten Bucky Barnes, either.

T'Challa was amused a day later, when Tony Stark sent him a copy of the CD that the Avengers had received from Team Cap. "Because you were a member of our team, too." Tony's message read.

T'Challa hoped he could be a unifying factor between the two factions, since he'd done so much to tear them apart. He thought his father — who was being spoken of as T'Chaka the Peacemaker — would approve.

A few days after the solstice concert, the king visited the cryo chamber, to make arrangements for the holiday CDs to be played for Barnes periodically.

"I wish I knew whether he could sense out good wishes," he mused aloud.

"Oh, he can, sir, and he has," a technician told the king. "We can measure it."

"You can?" T'Chala was hopeful as well as curious.

"Come see," the technician invited. He brought up photos of Barnes' face — part of the regular monitoring program. One photo was taken before the CD arrived and one was taken the day after the children's concert.

The technician overlaid the two photos and pointed out the differences.

Bucky had gone into cryo with a peaceful expression on his face, but now the corners of his mouth were visibly higher. Bucky Barnes was smiling in his icy sleep, and that was the best holiday present T'Challa could ask for.

* * *

 _A/N: To answer some of my dear readers. The friends are singing Christmas songs because this is a Christmas gift for Bucky. They decide to add Team Tony to the recipients, because it seemed like a nice thing to do. But that's why Team Cap is singing on a "mix tape," Urban Spaceman. The gift is originally meant for Bucky, and what else can you get for a guy who's frozen.  
Because Wakanda was never conquered, I think they never became a Christian or Islamic country like most of Africa. I imagine them having a religion where shrines and ancestors are venerated. Once the royal family was worshipped, though T'Challa's grandfather decreed that they were not gods. In my head canon, the country celebrates holidays on the vernal and autumnal equinoxes and the summer and winter solstices. Plus the king's birthday and other dates celebrating historic events._


	30. The Heroes Who Saved Christmas

_A/N: This was actually the first Christmas story I started, only to have my brain hijacked by Christmas songs and a story about Christmas songs. This would actually take during The Singing Holiday, after they make the CD but before they hear back from T'Challa. And there's a New Year's Eve story coming too, a week late, next Saturday. Happy New Year!_

* * *

 **The Heroes Who Saved Christmas**

"Excuse me, is this where I sign up to volunteer?"

Kaye looked up to see a man standing over her table. He had brown eyes, light brown hair combed over in a popular hipster style and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard.

Thanks to an abusive ex, Kaye was usually intimidated by big men, but she didn't even notice the stranger's size. His brown eyes were so kind behind his dark-framed glasses.

"Hi, is this where I volunteer?" the man asked again.

"Oh, sorry," Kaye said, flustered. "Yes, we are taking volunteers."

She began to rummage for the correct forms, which had become buried under other paperwork. Charities produced mounds of paperwork.

"Good," the man answered her. "I'm not able to make a monetary donation this year, but I like to help out during the holidays when I can. I have plenty of time this year," he said ruefully.

"Lose your job?" Kaye asked sympathetically, as she rummaged for the registration form.

"Yeah," Steve Rogers sighed. "The whole company went bust."

"I'm so sorry."

Steve shrugged. "I'm getting by, but I'd still like to help out. My mom was a single parent and we never had much. I remember how exciting it was to get a book or a toy from the church donations."

"What made you pick our little group?" she asked, as he filled out the paperwork (with lies, all lies).

"I heard you collect bicycles, right? I figured you might need a strong back to muscle them around."

"That's true. I'm Kaye, by the way."

Steve shook her hand. "Joe Joseph," he said.

"Really?" she teased.

Steve chuckled. "It's worse than you think. The 'Joe' is short for my last name. My first name is actually Ulysses."

"Oh my, poor thing! I'm glad to meet you, Joe." She explained that they were going to assemble bicycles the next day, on Friday, and give them out on Saturday, Christmas Eve. "Can you come tomorrow? We especially need help on weekdays."

"I'll be here," Steve promised.

* * *

"So where'd the 'Joseph' come from?" Clint asked, when they spoke over a secure line.

"My father's name was Joseph," Steve replied with dignity.

"And 'Ulysses'?" Clint chuckled.

"My middle name is 'Grant,'" Steve pointed out, with a smile that was audible across the miles.

"Nat would get after you for that," Clint said. "A good alias should have no significance to you at all."

"I don't think the Windsor Heights Little League is going to look for a top secret clearance on me."

"No, probably just make sure you're not in the sex offenders database."

Steve grimaced at the idea that California needed such a thing as a sex offenders database.

"But still, you're violating Nat's rule Number 3 for going undercover," Clint said.

"Is this Natasha Romanoff, Natalia Romanova, Natalie Rushman you're talking about? The woman who always uses the same initials?"

Clint chuckled. "That started when SHIELD didn't fully trust her. It was a way of keeping her on a short leash. She kept it up in defiance, to show she could function perfectly well despite the handicap. Trust me, she's never used NR in any critical op. She's certainly not using those initials now."

* * *

The next day, at the park where the Options charity was working, Steve happily hauled boxes of bicycle parts out to the parking lot, then sat on the sidewalk to attach seats, handlebars and wheels to the frames. There was a big box of accessories and Steve gleefully tricked out the bikes, mixing up baskets, bells, streamers and colorful handle grips.

When Kaye stopped by to check on him, he was screwing training wheels on a glittery pink bike with a white wicker basket and magenta streamers coming from the white grips.

"You're very good at this," she said, surprised to see a small fleet of fully assembled bikes standing on training wheels or leaning on their kickstands.

"I love bikes," Steve confessed. He felt a pang thinking of his motorcycle that he'd left in New York while he went to a funeral in England. He hoped Tony was taking care of it. He was sure the mechanic loved machines too much to take out his anger at Steve on an innocent motorcycle. Steve sternly told himself to focus and smiled up at Kaye. "I didn't have a bike of my own, but my best friend let me ride his. We spent a lot of time keeping it cleaned up and greased. I haven't forgotten everything I learned."

Steve wheeled the assembled bikes into a cinderblock storage shed at the park. It was soon full to the rafters — literally, because Steve rigged up ropes to hoist some of the bikes up to the ceiling.

"Where will we put the rest?" he asked, frowning at the collection of parts remaining on the sidewalk.

He was answered immediately when a large panel truck pulled into the driveway. The Hispanic driver climbed out, giving Kaye a thumbs up.

"Manny, this is Joe. Joe, this is Manny," she made the introductions.

"When the shed is full, we can start loading the truck," Manny said proudly.

"Then start loading," Kaye said with a grin.

"What? The shed is full already?" Manny peeked inside and saw the small building was packed.

"Wow! I didn't think we'd get that much done until after folks got off work," he said, impressed.

Manny and Kaye were teachers who had the whole week off. The other parent volunteers would show up about 6 p.m. with a potluck feast and plans to work through the evening assembling bicycles.

"Joe's been here all day. He's really good at assembling bicycles," Kaye said.

"I am now," Steve joked. "I've been practicing."

"I can see that!" Manny said.

Steve nudged him. With a devilish sparkle in his eyes, he said, "How about we finish all the bikes before anyone else gets here."

"Then we can just party!" Manny agreed enthusiastically.

"And do all the paperwork and rearrange the hall for the distribution tomorrow and prepare the accessory table …" Kaye said dryly.

"And party," Manny insisted.

"And party," she conceded. "This will really help," she told Steve. "We'll be able to leave by 9 instead of midnight."

"Always glad to help, ma'am," Steve said, drawling the "ma'am" like a movie cowboy and tipping an imaginary hat, making Kaye giggle.

The men set to work. Steve had to slow down to not outshine Manny by a suspicious amount. The Super Soldier actually used the tools provided, instead of tightening bolts with his super strong fingers.

Listening to Christmas music from Manny's iPhone, the men worked together to assemble the rest of the bicycles. Then Manny hopped into the back of the rental truck and Steve began handing the bikes up to him for storage.

"You sure you don't want to trade spaces for awhile?" Manny asked, because "Joe" was doing all the heavy lifting.

"This means I can skip the gym today, probably tomorrow, too," Steve joked good-naturedly.

As he went across the driveway to get the last two bikes, Steve heard a voice from across the street.

"See, they're even loading the truck for us. This will be the easiest score ever." The man gloated in a quiet voice, but not quiet enough to evade Super Soldier ears.

Steve angled one of the bikes so he could watch in the rearview mirror as three rough-looking Hispanic men passed.

"What if they leave someone to guard the bikes?" a second man asked.

"Then too bad for him," the first growled, touching the bulging pocket of his jacket.

Laughing together, the men turned the corner and Steve turned to watch their backs disappear.

"The Loco Lobos. The leader, the big guy there, he's El Oso 'The Bear,'" Manny said over Steve's shoulder, also watching the men disappear. "They think they own these streets. They're part of the reason we give away bicycles. The parents of these kids all work, some of them two or three jobs. They don't have time to drive their kids to afterschool activities. With the bikes, the kids aren't dependent on the school bus. They can go to the youth center, come to our Little League games. They can get away from the streets. The bicycles give them options."

And Options was the name of the charity group.

Steve nodded. He hoisted one bike on his shoulder and wheeled the last one to the truck.

"Then we need to keep them safe. Where are we taking them?" he asked, as Manny stowed the last bikes and locked the back of the truck.

"Nowhere. This is just for storage," Manny said. "Because we need to arrange the rest of the hall for the giveaway. We have boxes of bike helmets and kneepads and locks — other accessories. We need space to work. We'll bring all the bikes in tomorrow morning."

Steve nodded, giving a last look at the corner where the Lobos vanished. Then cars began arriving, with pizzas, salads, casseroles and desserts. Delighted that all the assembly was done, the volunteers gladly stuffed "Joe" with all the food he could hold, before he apologized for leaving early.

The other volunteers agreed he'd already done his part. They'd finish set up without him.

"Will we see you tomorrow?" Kaye asked.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Steve promised. Then he went home to persuade Sam and Sharon to do something dangerous.

"We could just call the cops," Sam said, feeling he had to be the voice of reason. "There are even anonymous tip hotlines."

"But would they stake out the place all night, because that gang only has one chance to steal those bikes," Steve said.

"You hear about it every year," Sharon agreed. "Some group collects donations for charity and some Grinch steals it all."

"This would be a good chance to test out battle drills," Steve persuaded. "See how well we work together under actual combat conditions."

"Well," Sam said with a slow grin. "I'm not opposed to kicking the tails of some gang bangers. And I would like to see how everything works."

"So, stakeout tonight, Nomad?" Sharon said brightly.

"Let's do this, Tracy, Laughing Owl," Steve said with a grin.

"I thought we settled on Shadow Owl," Sam complained not very seriously.

* * *

The trio's disguises were a work in progress. At the moment, Nomad wore a full body suit, black with gray slash patterns for camouflage. The mask looked something like Black Panther's, without the ears. It covered Steve's face entirely, with strategic padding to change the shape of his cheekbones and jaw. His uniform was also padded to make his waist look thicker. Tracy's uniform was a female version of Nomad's, also eyeless, with deceptive padding. The padding in her uniform gave her an even more lush figure. It was either extra curves or uncomfortably squashed breasts and the extra curves would be distracting, she hoped. (And extra body armor was never a bad thing.)

Sam had the same sort of full-face mask and his body armor and wings were now patterned the same black with gray slashes.

The uniforms also had voice changers.

Sam sounded a lot like Nick Fury, which they all agreed was perfect. Sharon's voice came out low and sultry, which was hysterical when she said things like "drop your weapons, boys." Still, it was better than high and squeaky, which was the only other choice that sounded significantly different than her normal voice. Steve's voice changer also made his voice deeper and added a gravelly growl — much more menacing than Sharon's voice, they all agreed. Sharon was also training Steve to speak with a slight vaguely Southern accent when he had the Nomad mask on. And he tried to moderate his strength so he looked strong, but not super strong.

Steve joking called their group the Three S's.

"Was that Three Asses?" Sam said sarcastically.

"S3," Sharon said firmly, which at least gave them something to call themselves among themselves. For most operations, though, they would look like a duo. Like a couple, actually. Nobody associated Captain American with a female partner, which was part of the plan for Sharon and Sam.

Sam and Sharon were fiercely dedicated to protecting Steve, which reminded him of the old days when he and Bucky were kids. The overprotectiveness exasperated him now, just as it had then.

"Look," Sam said, equally exasperated. "If you get caught by Thaddeus Ross, you will not be going to prison. You will be going to a laboratory for experimentation. Just look at what that man put Banner through. He has no respect for the Geneva Convention or common decency. I will die. I will die gladly, if it keeps you out of that man's hands!"

Steve was chastened. "Don't die, Sam."

"Then pay attention to Sharon's accent lessons and, when you're Nomad, try to act as little like Cap as you can."

"Sir, yes sir!" Steve snapped a salute.

"Don't 'sir' me, I work for a living," Sam groused, but smiled as he said it.

"It's just as well you don't have the shield any more. It forces you to act differently," Sharon said.

"Of course, my wings are just as distinctive as the shield," Sam grumbled. "It's like putting a spotlight on you. If that's the Falcon, then that guy must be Captain America. I just can't fly with you," he said regretfully.

"Yeah, I'll miss your air support," Steve agreed.

"Good thing we found an alternative, then," Sharon said brightly.

"Of course, it would be safest if you didn't get into trouble at all, but I know that's too much to ask," Sharon sighed.

"Bucky could tell you, even when I try to stay out of trouble, I can't," Steve protested. "I mean, look now, all I wanted to do was hand out bicycles!"

* * *

That night, about an hour after the last volunteer had locked up and left, the Lobos came calling with tools to steal a truck, crowbars to break into the shed and a couple of vans to carry away as much as they could fit in.

From his perch on the roof, Sam counted 20 men, including El Oso. Most had handguns. Some had knives strapped on their belts. The youngest two had baseball bats as weapons.

The group gathered around El Oso, near the panel truck. He started assigning them jobs, but no one had a chance to move before Nomad and Tracy jumped off the truck and literally dropped on them.

Four men were smashed to the ground, unconscious before they ever saw their attackers. Spinning kicks, a flashing bo staff and a rapid-fire barrage of punches put down another five. El Oso staggered backwards, astonished to see more than half his men were down.

A pair of costumed freaks stood in a cleared space between the gang members and the truck.

"Superheroes? Protecting bicycles? They're just bicycles!" a man complained dizzily, lying on his back in the parking lot.

"They're not your bicycles," Nomad said in a gravelly voice with just a hint of the South, Sharon noted with approval.

"What are superheroes doing in our neighborhood," El Oso snarled possessively.

Nomad shrugged. "Big game is off limits these days, so you'll have to do."

The Bear leaped at Nomad. The gang leader was a powerful man, who had never failed to take down an opponent. Steve met his attack with a straight punch to the jaw that laid out El Oso in an unconscious heap. Because they were unsanctioned now, the rogue Avengers had to be very careful not to kill anyone.

"The rest of you may leave now, if you know what's good for you," Tracy said in her sultry Southern drawl.

"Fucking Enhanced!" snarled the youngest gang member, as he smacked a baseball bat against his palm in what Steve was sure he considered a menacing gesture.

"Please!" Tracy scoffed. "Enhanced are on a leash these days. We're not Enhanced. We're just very well trained."

She leaped forward, using her staff as a vaulting pole, pivoting in midair and kicking the young gang member in the jaw, sending him flying backwards.

"Can't let the Enhanced have all the fun," Nomad agreed. He moved forward, but stopped when a new man stepped out of the shadows. He carried an assault rifle, the most dangerous weapon the former Avengers had seen from this low level crew.

"Get them, Bingo," gloated the man on the ground.

* * *

As Bingo brought up his assault rifle, he heard a quiet whirring, then a deep, menacing voice behind him growled, "Hey, dimwit!"

Bingo spun around, but nobody was there. Instead, some thing hovered at eye level, four rotors spinning. It was big and black and had two gun barrels pointed at him.

Bingo threw up his hand in self-defense, but was too late to prevent the impact of half a dozen paintballs.

Sam's aim was precise. The balls hit the man's forehead and raised arm, splashing into his eyes. The nontoxic paint stung like a bee. Bingo dropped his weapon and clawed at his face. Steve beaned him with a hard rubber ball and put the gangbanger out of his misery.

Swinging a baseball bat, Bingo's brother rushed the back of the drone, intending to knock it out of the air. The heads-up display in Sam's visor gave him a full 360-degree view around the drone. When the attacker was in range, Sam fired the tailgun. The water cannon sprayed vinegar in the batter's face. Like his brother, he dropped his weapon and grabbed his face. Sharon's quarterstaff swept his feet out from under him. He fell and cracked his head on his own baseball bat.

While the remaining gang members were still gaping at this unexpected turn of events. The drone swooped over the group, strafing with paintballs and making the gang members dodge and duck. Sharon and Steve took advantage of the chaos, smashing through the bicycle thieves and leaving them groaning on the ground.

"That worked well," Sharon commented, as they went back to ziptie the crooks.

"Nice work, Owl," Steve said quietly over his comm.

"Nice to play a part," Sam answered in satisfaction.

The former Falcon had thought long and hard about his role in Team S3. When he realized he couldn't provide direct air support, he really missed his tricked out Redwing drone. He hadn't seen it since the battle at the airport. But he realized these days, everyone can buy drones, so he bought three that offered the best combination of power and stealth.

As an Avenger, Sam had spent hours with Stark customizing Redwing. Clint Barton had spent hours with SHIELD and with Stark customizing arrows. Together Clint and Sam had spent a frankly hilarious weekend in the Barton barn, developing and then testing nonlethal weaponry for the drones. It had ended with an epic water/paintball battle that the kids were still talking about.

This had been the first "live fire" test and the drone had passed with "flying" colors. Sam was confident he could provide covert air support for Steve and Sharon, and he still had his own wings for emergency evacuations.

And — he grinned to himself — because he had to stay hidden, he didn't have to help Steve and Sharon clean up the battleground.

* * *

When "Joe" arrived at the park the next morning, everyone was talking about the previous night's gang battle and the attempted theft of the bicycles. An anonymous call had brought the police to the park to find the tied up gang members. The weapons on their persons were enough reason to take them in. Plus, security cameras had caught the attempted theft on film.

"At the station, El Oso confessed to everything," said one of the volunteers who was a police officer. "He wouldn't stop raving about the crazy superheroes who stopped his theft. He signed a statement and everything. Apparently he thought he'd be getting these 'Enhanced' people in trouble with the Accords."

"Will they get in trouble?" Kaye asked anxiously. "Because they saved our bicycles."

The volunteer grinned. "As the chief is concerned, these were just good Samaritans on the way to a costume party. Nobody showed any superpowers. They're just, I don't know, Navy SEALs or Special Forces. They sure can fight," he said in admiration. He'd seen the video.

"This neighborhood's going to be a lot safer without those Lobos," Manny said.

"What do you think, Joe?" Kaye asked Steve.

"I think we have bicycles to give away. In about half an hour," Steve prompted.

The volunteers scrambled to their posts. Steve spent a happy morning handing out bicycles, adding training wheels when needed, and fitting helmets on kids who were grinning from ear to ear.

When the event was done and the volunteers were cleaning up, Kaye told Joe and Manny, "I wish I could thank those heroes. They saved Christmas."

"That's what heroes do. They don't look for thanks," Manny replied.

But sometimes it was nice to hear, Steve thought.


	31. New Year's Fireworks

_A/N: A week late, but Happy New Year anyway. This follows the bicycle chapter._

* * *

 **New Year's Fireworks**

The small park in the Anaheim hills was crowded with people anxious to catch a free glimpse of the New Year's Eve fireworks at Disneyland. They wouldn't be able to hear the music, but the fireworks would be visible.

With all the chatter going on, they probably wouldn't be able to hear the music anyway, Sam Wilson thought fondly. He and Steve Rogers and Sharon Carter had come out to catch the start of the new year. The fugitives didn't dare go to a big event, where there would be lots of security and cameras, but this little hillside park was only notable for the partial view of Disneyland. It seemed safe enough to mingle with the small crowd.

At 2 minutes to midnight, the first rocket lit the air. Steve smiled at Sharon. "Happy New Year," he said, and bent down to kiss her.

Grinning, Sam turned away to give them privacy. Two slender arms in a puffy down coat threw themselves around his neck. "Happy New Year, stranger," the girl said, and planted her lips on his.

Sam was surprised, to say the least. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of raised cellphones. He quickly dipped the girl, giving the cameras a look at his freshly shaved, shiny bald head instead of his face. When their flashes had gone off, he hoisted the girl to her feet, keeping his back to her two friends.

"What was that? A dare?" he asked, with a friendly smile to show he wasn't mad.

"See who can kiss the hottest stranger," she agreed pertly. "I'm totally going to win. Thanks!"

The girl grinned pertly. She had mocha brown skin and a frizzy Afro and was wearing a Hollywood University T-shirt under her pale blue jacket. She couldn't be more than 19, Sam thought with a mental sigh. Half his age.

He started to warn her about the dangers of approaching strange men, but she and her girlfriends ran off giggling.

Shaking his head, Sam turned back to his friends to see them both regarding him, heads tilted inquisitively, like a pair of golden retrievers. Sam rolled his eyes.

Then Sharon's eyes shifted toward something over his shoulder. Her gaze hardened. Sam spun around to see the Kissing Girl's blonde friend in the arms of a big, blond man. The black girl and her dark-haired white friend watched with alarm when the man refused to let the blonde go. One of his brawny arms pinned her right arm to her side and held her head firmly in place. His other arm pawed at the bottom of her jacket, trying to get up under her shirt, while her free arm flailed uselessly at his hip.

"Hey, let her go!" the Kissing Girl protested. The man shoved her away roughly.

Sam started forward, but Sharon passed him. "Let me," she growled.

She grabbed the man's free hand, pinching and twisting his fingers until the bones grated. With a pained yell, the man released the girl, who scampered away to join her friends now cowering safely behind Sam and Steve.

With the girl free, Sharon kicked the masher's legs out from under him, dropping him on his back hard enough to drive the breath out of him.

Everyone else's eyes were on the fireworks display. No one seemed to notice the altercation at the back of the crowd.

Sharon crouched beside the man, still twisting his hand to keep him under control. "Get out of this park right away and don't come back," she ordered.

"She started it," the man growled petulantly.

"Yeah, and she wanted to end it, too, but you wouldn't let her. Get out," Sharon snarled.

"What if I don't?" he said defiantly.

"Then my friends are going to strip you naked and I'll call the cops about a flasher in the park," Sharon said venomously. "And you can spend the rest of your life in the sex offenders data base."

"You wouldn't!" the man was aghast.

"The way you were treating that girl, you are a sex offender as far as I'm concerned. Last chance, go!"

The man saw the fierceness in Sharon's face and the implacable enmity in Sam's and Steve's. He wisely chose to scramble away and run toward the parking lot. In a moment, a car peeled out of the lot, while the fireworks were still painting the sky with color.

Sharon fixed the girls with a stern look. "And you three, find a safer game to play. Count the number of funny glasses people are wearing, or something," she ordered.

The three college girls shared a look. "I've got funny glasses," the brunette said.

"I'll take funny hats," the blonde said, still a little shaky but game.

The black girl scanned the crowd. "I'll take light-up necklaces," she decided.

They started off on their visual scavenger hunt.

"Thank you, ma'am," the blonde said gratefully.

Sharon scowled at their backs. "That's gratitude for you. They called me 'ma'am'!"

She stalked toward the parking lot, no longer in the mood for celebrating. Steve followed her, grinning.

"What are you smiling at?" Sam demanded.

"I'm not the one who found trouble this time," Steve gloated.


	32. Hand in Hand

**Hand in Hand**

I stretched out my hand, desperate to catch my best friend, but I couldn't reach him in time. The man who was like a brother to me fell, tumbling through the air, screaming my name in terror. Failure swamped my soul. I screamed his name in denial, my hand clawed futilely at empty air — and then it was caught in a warm grip.

I could still see my brother falling, falling, and yet I felt his hand safe in mine.

* * *

The dichotomy woke Sam Wilson with a start. He gasped in the darkness, gulping air while his heartbeat settled.

The warm grip never faltered and, when the pounding in his head eased, he heard words in an equally warm voice.

"Take it easy, Sam. It's just a dream. You're safe. Your name is Sam Wilson. I am Steve Rogers. You're safe here."

The bedroom door creaked open, letting dim light into the darkness. It revealed a room with twin beds. The covers of one bed had been thrown aside with such force, they were mostly puddled on the floor. The covers of the other bed were twisted around Sam, as if they'd been wrestling him. Steve crouched beside him, right hand holding Sam's, left hand gripping Sam's shoulder, both grips anchoring Sam to reality.

Sharon Carter blinked sleepily at her two roommates. Her abruptly awakened brain was slow to grasp the situation. "Should I leave you two alone?" she joked.

Steve gave her a complicated grimace that said both "not now" and "not funny."

"You back with me, Sam?" Steve asked. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yeah," Sam answered. "I'm Sam Wilson. You're Steve Rogers. That's Sharon Carter, who's seriously rethinking that kiss you gave her now that she's caught us holding hands."

Steve snorted, released Sam's hand and gave his shoulder a squeeze, before he slid down to sit on the floor with his back to Sam's bed.

Sharon sidled into the room, hauled Steve's covers back into a semblance of order, then sat on the bed.

"It was just a nightmare, guys, not a flashback. I'm good," Sam assured them.

"So, does this happen often?" Sharon probed.

"We traveled around for almost a year looking for Barnes, until the Avengers found out Loki's scepter was missing and that became a priority," Sam explained.

"We shared a lot of motel rooms." Steve took up the story. "Found out we shared nightmares, too."

"See, we both saw our best friends fall to their deaths." Sam snorted at himself. "Actually, that's not true, because Barnes didn't die and Riley … my wingman, my best friend, the other Falcon pararescue flier," he told Sharon. "Riley was shot down by an RPG. He was killed by the explosion, dead before he ever hit the ground." Grief was still strong in Sam's voice. Steve patted his knee in consolation.

Sam steadied his voice. "In reality, I saw the explosion and then I was taking evasive action and our ground crew was shouting and shooting at the insurgents. I never actually saw Riley fall. But in my nightmares, he's falling and yelling my name and I can't catch him."

"I think I infected Sam with my nightmare," Steve said. "Because that's actually what happened when Bucky fell. I was reaching for him, but the railing broke away and I watched him fall, screaming my name, while I screamed his."

Sam patted Steve's shoulder.

"Even though I know Bucky's alive and safe, the nightmare is still …" Steve hardly had a word for how horrifying the nightmare still was. "It's still real," he finally said.

"And the hand holding helps?" Sharon asked, not judging.

Steve chuckled. "We found out by accident. Sam grabbed my hand to stop me from bashing a hole in the wall."

"That shit gets expensive," Sam said. "He'd done it in the last motel we'd stayed in. I didn't want to pay for any more repairs."

"Makes sense. Pretty brave to try to wake a Super Soldier," Sharon realized.

Sam shrugged. Steve looked chagrined. "I gave him a black eye once."

"The motel owner threatened to call the cops for spousal abuse," Sam said with a laugh. He waited for Sharon to chuckle and Steve to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment. "We convinced him it was PTSD instead. Anyway, I grabbed Steve's hand and it woke him up right away."

"In the dream I'm reaching for Bucky. I see him falling, but I feel his hand in mine. The contradiction wakes me up."

"Me, too," Sam agreed. "And it's a hopeful awakening, because I know my friend is with me."

"A hopeful awakening," Sharon repeated. She crossed the room to sit beside Steve on the floor. She leaned against him and raised her hand for Sam to clasp. The three friends clung together, their closeness banishing their midnight nightmares and the nightmares of their outlawed reality.

"We all need a hopeful awakening," Sharon said.

"Amen," Steve answered.


	33. Conversations with a King: Bucky's Talk

_A/N: Fun fact. About 80 percent of this story was handwritten while I was standing in line for rides at Disneyland. Look for a couple of chapters of The Back Porch in the next two weeks, then maybe I'll get back to speed on Reconstruction. Honestly. I have parts of three stories written, but no whole story. But I do have two Back Porch stories written based on things said in Civil War. You can probably guess which two lines if you think about it.  
This chapter takes place after #24 and just before #25. Before just about all the other chapters, as far as I remember._

 **Conversations with a King:**

 **Bucky's Talk**

When he heard the quiet knock at the door of the suite he shared with Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes assumed it was one of the nurses coming to check on his recovery.

He called "Come in," but his attention was on the view of the jungle outside his window.

When King T'Challa entered, his attention was captured by the view inside the room.

Bucky Barnes, the fearsome Winter Soldier, the man he had accused of murder, sat beside the wide window in a warm flood of sunlight wearing a rapt expression of wonder on his face.

Outside, a flying jewel visited the flowering vine that climbed beside the window. The sunbird flitted from blossom to blossom, perching to push its beak deep into the crimson flowers. The colors of the bird's head shifted from blue to turquoise, depending on how the light hit it. There was an amethyst band on his chest and he had a bright yellow belly. The shifting colors were mesmerizing and Bucky was obediently mesmerized, watching with a childlike smile of delight that made T'Challa smile as well.

The bird that Bucky thought of as a hummingbird zipped away and, with a sigh of contentment, Bucky turned away from the window, only then realizing who his visitor was.

The peace on his face was replaced by an apologetic grimace that T'Challa hated to see. The one-armed man awkwardly started to stand, but T'Challa gestured for him to remain and joined him at the window.

"Their beauty is a gift," the king said, referring to the sunbird. "Do you see the hornbill?" He pointed out another bird in a nearby tree. The bird had a bill that seemed as long and heavy as its body. "It seems ungainly, but see how dexterous he is?"

Perched on a sturdy branch, the hornbill stretched his neck to pluck a round fruit from a nearby cluster, then he flipped back his head and dropped the fruit in his mouth.

Bucky smiled in appreciation of the skill. "I don't remember anything like this," he told the king. There was a satisfaction in his voice, because he knew these weren't stolen memories but simply experiences he hadn't had. "Not as Bucky Barnes or as the Winter Soldier. I remember cities and farmland, olive orchards in Italy and towering forests in Austria, and I remember flashes of deserts — rocky deserts and sandy deserts, never knew there were so many different kinds of deserts! But the Soldier saw them all. But I've never seen a jungle before. The closest I remember is watching Tarzan movies when I was a kid."

"Ah, Tarzan," T'Challa said, remembering. "The original books are not what one would call politically correct these days. Burroughs was a man of his time and that time believed in the 'white man's burden,' as Kipling called it. But those books were a secret vice of mine when I was a child. Though black Africans are treated like children at best, Tarzan could speak to animals. I dearly wanted to talk to animals."

"Have you tried Dr. Dolittle?" Bucky asked.

"I liked Rex Harrison. The Eddie Murphy version is a bit too vulgar for my taste," T'Challa replied.

"What?" Bucky was baffled.

"The movies," T'Challa explained.

"Oh, they made movies? That's nice. But I was talking about the books. My sisters loved them and I used to read the Dr. Dolittle books to them. Just to be a good brother. Not because I liked them, too," he said too piously to be believed.

"Of course not," T'Challa chuckled. "The movies are based on books? More than one?"

"Yeah, there was a whole series," Bucky answered. "They're kids books, but they're not babyish, at least as far as I remember. It's been a while."

T'Challa took out a pen and a pad of paper — just like Steve, Bucky thought.

"Do you know the author's name? Though I'm sure I can look it up."

"Hugh Lofting," Bucky supplied.

"I will investigate," T'Challa assured him.

Bucky looked wistful, remembering taking care of his younger sisters. T'Challa decided it was time to change the subject.

"Where is your faithful shadow?" he joked, a little surprised Steve Rogers hadn't made an appearance yet.

Bucky smiled. "Most people would put that the other way around," he said. He stood up carefully, still uncertain in his balance with one arm missing. He beckoned T'Challa to join him beside the door to one of the bedrooms. It was slightly ajar and through the gap, the men could see Steve clad only in sweatpants face down on his bed, his face deeply planted in the pillow. The blankets were askew, as if a one-armed man had tried to arrange them after his friend fell asleep.

"He crashed hard," Bucky said quietly. "I remember this from the war," he continued with a mix of pride and wonder that he remembered. "He'd go for days with just catnaps when we were on a mission, then sleep the clock around when everyone was safe back at base."

The sleeper stirred, mumbling something into his pillow.

"It's just me, pal," Bucky reassured him. "Go back to sleep. We're safe here."

Steve subsided with a relieved sigh.

Bucky pulled the door closed. "He's got ears like a cat," he told the king.

"Has he gotten much sleep during this affair," T'Challa asked.

"Not that I saw. Wilson and I had a chance to sleep while we were on our way to the airport, but Steve was driving. He probably didn't have much sleep before he came after me, either. Knowing him, he would have been worrying about the Accords and about Peggy's funeral. I doubt he slept much at all this last week."

"Then we will leave him to his well deserved rest," the king replied.

"So, did you stop by just to check on us or can I help you with something?" Bucky asked politely.

"I brought you something," T'Challa replied. He picked up the satchel he'd left by Bucky's chair and pulled out a red book.

Bucky flinched away so violently, that every wound, bruise and torn muscle protested vigorously. He staggered, looking nothing like the dreaded Winter Soldier and everything like a badly injured man who had left his bed too soon.

Alarmed, T'Challa extended his hand to support the unsteady man, but Bucky tottered out of reach.

Appalled that he had caused such distress, T'Challa set the book down and moved away, empty hands raised. "Peace, friend. I took this from some things Zemo had discarded in the snow — he meant to kill himself, you see. Even he does not know I found it. I have not shown it to anyone, nor have I read it. Russian is not one of my languages. I used a dictionary in the royal library to translate a few words, enough to find a reference to the Winter Soldier, which confirmed my suspicion that this was the book Captain Rogers mentioned, the one that led you to attack us at the task force headquarters. I did not expect this fearful reaction. I thought you would be pleased to know it was not in enemy hands."

The king was visibly distressed to have disturbed Bucky so strongly.

Bucky struggled to recover himself. He sank into his window seat again, but this time he had no eyes for the greedy monkeys were had replaced the hornbill at the fruit tree. He could not tear his gaze from the book.

"I am glad you have it," he said. "But that is not the only copy. I know at least two more exist, and there may be more. All the others are likely to be in unfriendly hands, Hydra's, the government's, Stark's." He shuddered at the thought. "There are still people out there who can control me with just a few words, who can sic me on Steve again like a vicious attack dog. I've nearly killed him twice. I can't bear the thought I might do it again!"

His voice grew more impassioned as he spoke, though he kept the volume down for the sake of the sleeper in the next room.

T'Challa crouched beside Bucky and put a hand on his knee. "We have the most advanced medical science on the planet, including mental health. I am confident that my people will be able to negate the Winter Soldier's programming, if you will trust us with this book. Though it may take time," he admitted.

"I believe you," Bucky answered. "But until then, I am a danger to everyone around me."

"What can we do to make you feel safe?" the king asked.

Bucky thought a moment, a long moment, then gave a cynical chuckle. "It's not my safety I'm worried about. It's the safety of everyone else. I was trained to be a killer for 75 years. Hydra only emphasized what the U.S. Army began. I can strike out, even in my sleep, even with only one arm. I am a bomb that could explode at any time. The only way I'd feel safe is if I was back in cryo. I can't hurt anyone when I'm frozen. Do you have that technology?" he challenged.

"Yes," T'Challa said, and winced at the way Bucky's face brightened. "We use it for the sick and dying, to prolong their lives until a cure or a donor can be found. We have successfully revived patients after up to 21 months in cryogenic suspension. And I personally know a woman who is still alive more than six years after being revived and treated."

"So you could freeze me while your people look for a cure?" Bucky asked eagerly.

"Yes," T'Challa said heavily.

He was glad to see that the news returned the smile to Bucky's face, but he was saddened to imagine how it would steal the smile from Steve's.


	34. Super Bowl Sunday

A _/N: This is easier to understand if you followed the Super Bowl at all and know a little about the Deflategate controversy and that Lady Gaga performed an amazing halftime show. But I hope I made it clear enough to follow, even if you were entirely unaware. The idea came about when I told my mother the teams in the big game were the Patriots and the Falcons and I thought, damn! that sounds like Cap and Sam! Since I'm a week behind on my holidays, next Saturday will be a Valentine's Day story with Clint and Laura — and family._

* * *

 **Super Bowl Sunday**

Sharon Carter and Sam Wilson engaged in a stare down across the table. Sharon smacked down her dish of vegetables and dip with more emphasis than was absolutely necessary. In reply, Sam let his tray of assorted snacks fall an inch to the tabletop. The many bowls of chips and pretzels rattled with an impressive clatter.

"I can't believe you!" Sharon said in mostly mock outrage. Her oversized red, white and blue New England Patriots' jersey flapped like a flag when she waved her hand at Sam's outfit.

He crossed his muscular arms across the red, white and black logo of the Atlanta Falcons on his chest.

"Really? What team did you think the Falcon would root for?" Sam scoffed with a grin.

"I thought Captain America's sidekick would be more Patriot-ic," she snarked, emphasizing the "Patriot" part of the final word.

Sam saw her jersey had the name "Brady" on the back.

"I can't believe you're wearing that cheater's name on your back," Sam goaded.

Sharon puffed up to launch a spirited defense of her favorite player.

"He served his suspension, Sam," Steve said, playing peacemaker. In both hands, he carried a slow cooker full of chili. When he set it on the table, Sharon was disappointed to see what Steve was wearing. Though he didn't have a Falcons logo on, he was wearing their colors, a red T-shirt and black jeans.

"Seriously?" Sharon complained.

"The red, white and blue was never my choice," Steve reminded her. "And I'm not supposed to wear it any more."

"Does this mean you think my team are cheaters?" she said defensively. She was a lifelong Patriots' fan, an admirer of Tom Brady long before the scandal called "Deflategate."

"They found 11 of their 12 footballs were underinflated, which gave Brady an advantage, gripping the football," Steve said reasonably, as he went back for hotdogs and bowls and other chili accompaniments. "It's hard to believe he didn't realize it."

"Goodell had no right to suspend Brady," Sharon insisted.

Steve returned with a tray of food. "I'm not one to automatically bow to authority," he said ironically, making his friends snort with amusement. "But if you have a commissioner, you have given him authority to make rulings. So, yes, I think he had the right to make that decision. Not that I think commissioners can't be wrong."

Sam coughed, "All Star Game," which made Sharon smirk. She'd heard Steve's rant about how the World Series home field advantage should be determined by which team had the best record, not which league won the All Star Game — a decision made by baseball's commissioner.

"But look at what this controversy says about our country," Steve said. " A team makes a mistake…"

"Cheats," Sam put in.

Steve gave him a stern look. "The team accepts their punishment. The quarterback takes his suspension to court — almost to the Supreme Court. Finally he serves his suspension and his team still makes the Super Bowl. It's a demonstration of the rule of law — and of the Patriots' dedication. You could call it inspiring."

"But not enough for you to root for them," Sharon said.

Steve shrugged. "The Patriots are the favorites and you know I always root for the underdog."

* * *

Four hours later, in the first overtime game in Super Bowl history, New England came from behind to win. After capering around the living room in triumph, Sharon made the boys do the dishes while she went to her room. Probably to buy more Tom Brady merchandise, Sam thought.

Steve washed the dishes while Sam dried them and put them away. While they worked, Sam noticed a secret smile playing around Steve's lips. He nudged his pal with an elbow.

"She may think she won today, but I think we're the real winners," Sam said.

""You mean ..."

"Halftime."

A smile lit Steve's face like a 300-watt incandescent light bulb. "That was amazing, wasn't it?" he said enthusiastically. "I couldn't take my eyes off her."

Sam had to agree. Seeing Sharon Carter lip-syncing to Lady Gaga had been awesome, worth every sudsy forfeit.


	35. Cupid's Day

_A/N: Here's a late holiday story for Valentine's Day. Just a note for readers, I try to stick with canon, so you will find canon couples in these Reconstruction stories: Tony and Pepper (more on than off for me), Steve and Sharon, Natasha and Bruce and, in this case, Clint and Laura._

* * *

 **Cupid's Day**

Laura Barton hummed to herself as she prepared a make-ahead Valentine's Day dinner for her family. Everyone's favorite beef stew simmered in the slow cooker and a big bowl of salad waited to be dressed in the refrigerator. Fudgy brownies and homemade yeast rolls were cooling on the counter. Little wrapped gifts were on the table with humorous cards at each place.

She took off her apron and made sure she hadn't spilled on her flowered dress. She fluffed her hair and checked her makeup in a magnetic mirror on the refrigerator. She'd been told her Valentine's Day surprise would be ready at noon and she was excited to see to see the production that everyone else in the household had been working on for days.

Her son burst into the back door, swinging on the doorknob. "Ten minute warning!" he said breathlessly. "Better get ready!"

"I'm ready," she answered.

Giving her a grin, Cooper spun and galloped down the steps again. "She's ready!" he yelled toward the barn.

Smiling and shaking her head, Laura used the bathroom, checked her makeup and hair one more time — she was maybe a little nervous — then sat with hands folded demurely until her daughter entered more ceremoniously than her son had.

"Lunch is ready, milady," Lila said with a sweeping bow that made the ribbons on her colorful headdress sway.

"Thank you, my dear," Laura said formally, holding out her hand and letting Lila tug her toward the barn. At the door, Lila darted inside, telling her mother to wait one minute.

Laura waited, then entered when called.

At the back of the barn, a bed sheet curtain was strung on a clothesline. It was one of Lila's pink flowered sheets, so it fit the Valentine's theme. A banner strung from the rafters read, "Happy Cupid's Day."

Lila, Cooper and Clint were waiting in a line, each with his or her bow in hand.

Giving her mother a grin, Lila raised her small, pink bow at something above her mother's head. Laura looked up to see bunches of helium balloons bumping against the ceiling with wrapped presents dangling from them.

Lila fired, popping one balloon. Equilibrium upset, the bunch slowly descended placing a heart-shaped box of her favorite candy in Laura's reaching hands.

"Beautiful, Lila. Thank you," she said with a bright smile.

Cooper raised his bow and burst two balloons with one shot, allowing a bouquet of flowers to descend to his mother, who laughed and thanked him.

With a wink, Clint raised his bow and fired a trick arrow that burst with a pop hardly louder than the balloons and showered pink and red streamers over everyone.

"Thank you all …"

Clint held up one finger. "You've still got one child to go," he pointed out.

Laura gave him a strict look. "Nathaniel is too young for bows and arrows."

Clint held up his hands defensively. "Too young for bows," he agreed. "But he rocks the diaper."

Natasha shouldered the curtain aside and gave her namesake a nudge. "Go to mommy," she instructed.

Chuckling happily, baby Nathaniel tottered toward Laura on pudgy legs. He wore a diaper and a ribbon harness that supported tissue paper wings that were slightly bent and adorably askew. In his hands was a small box, a long, narrow jewelry box. Laura clapped her hands at the charming sight.

Clint took the flowers and the candy box, leaving her hands free to reach out to the baby.

Nathaniel trundled into his mother's arms, batting at her with the wrapped box, as he tried to give it to her. Laughing, she took it, and started to hoist up the baby. But little cupid floated out of her arms and hovered, laughing, on a red mist.

"Open your present," Wanda said, as she levitated Nathaniel into her own arms.

The jewelry box revealed a charm bracelet, one of the expensive ones, with charms relating to her family and this peculiar year. It had a house for the new farm; a horse, Lila's favorite thing about the new home; and a swimmer, because Cooper really liked the pool. It had a bow and arrow, of course, and a little spider and a witch's hat for her Avengers' family members. And — really? — it had a charm representing the family's escape from the authorities.

"They make charms with open handcuffs?" Laura said dryly.

"I couldn't find one from the jeweler," Clint confessed. "But the Wild West Ghost Town gift shop is willing to do mail orders."

Laura shook her head in fond amusement and kissed her husband on his cheek.

"Luncheon awaits," Clint said with a bow. The table was set with tea sandwiches, fruit salad and pastries, everything Laura loved. (And there were a lot of sandwiches, to satisfy Clint's heartier appetite.)

Wanda removed Nathaniel's wings and dressed him in warmer clothes.

"And for your final gift," Natasha said. "Wanda and I are going to take the kids to town for hamburgers and a movie, while you and Clint enjoy an afternoon alone."

"That's my Valentine's present," Clint confided.

"Ours, too," Cooper added.

"Be home in time for dinner," Laura said. "Then it's my turn to hand out goodies."

"Have fun," Clint said, as the others started out.

"Oh, we will," Natasha assured him with a smirk. "After all, love — and Valentine's Day — are for children."

They drove off, leaving Clint and Laura alone.

Laura kissed her husband. "My perfect Cupid. Thank you for everything. Not to be ungrateful, but can we eat quick? We have the whole house all to ourselves!"

Clint's eyes caught fire at the smoldering look she gave him. "Your wish is my command, milady!"

They didn't rush through the lovingly prepared meal, because that would have been unappreciative, but they didn't dawdle either. Despite what Natasha said, Valentine's Day was for lovers.


	36. Stopping by Woods

**Stopping by Woods**

When his private jet landed in Ivalo, Finland, Tony Stark found a limousine waiting for him as arranged.

"The driver speaks English right?" he asked the attendant at the foot of the steps. "Because the only thing I can say in Finnish is 'Vodka.'"

The attendant smiled at the joke. "He does, sir, I checked," the man assured him in a strong Finnish accent. "And he knows where the hotel is."

"Good. Thanks." Tony was distracted by urgent beeping on his tablet, but he remembered to tip the attendant. The Finn gaped at the day's wage in Euros, then leaped to open the limo door. Tony slipped into the back seat, eyes on his screen.

"You do know where we're going?" he asked the driver without looking up.

"Yes sir!"

"Good. Make it so." Tony waved vaguely in the direction the car was pointed.

They drove for a while in silence, passing through the quiet, snow-covered forest, heading toward the exclusive luxury lodge where Tony's conference was being held.

When they were alone on the road, the driver pulled into a lookout point with a magnificent view of the snowy valley and said conversationally, "Did you know they build hotels out of ice in this country? Why would anyone in their right mind stay there?"

The driver's voice held an accent, not Finnish but pure Brooklyn — a familiar Brooklyn accent!

Tony's head shot up and, in the rearview mirror, he saw familiar blue eyes regarding him from beneath the chauffeur's black cap.

Tony swallowed. "I ... your eyes do have green in them, but I don't know why Zemo called it a flaw," were the first words to break through the logjam of shock.

The eyes crinkled in humor, yet looked a little sad, too, that Tony's mind immediately flew back to the bunker in Siberia. Steve Rogers shifted around to look into the back seat, his dark jacket straining at his broad shoulders.

Tony's eyes narrowed. "Am I being kidnapped?" he asked, not very seriously.

"Nah, that always turns out poorly for the kidnappers. I can learn from history," Steve answered.

"Because you are history," Tony snarked back. The banter felt achingly normal. He'd missed it. They'd both missed it.

"What are we doing here, then, Cap?" Tony asked.

"I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to tell you everything I knew about Hydra and your parents. Then you can beat me up again if you want," Steve answered a little sadly.

"Or I can kidnap you," Tony pointed out.

"You can, but Finland is one of the countries that didn't sign the Accords. They remember being the battleground between Sweden and Russia, and apparently there was a group of Finnish aid workers among the people we evacuated from Sokovia, so ... Their ambassador said they were not so ungrateful as to bite the hand of the people who saved the planet."

"But they don't know you're here?"

Steve shook his head vigorously. "I don't want to get anyone in trouble if I can help it. Don't want to get anyone else in trouble," he amended sadly. "I sneaked into the country."

"You're getting awfully good at sneaking for someone who's practically a live action Dudley Do-Right."

Steve ignored the reference. "I have sneaky friends," he reminded Tony. "They're teaching me."

Tony thought of Natasha and Clint and nodded. He didn't know Sharon Carter was doing most of Steve's training. Sharon had specialized in undercover protection and surveillance. She had perfected the art of being the girl next door, average, unnoticeable. Unnoticeable was exactly what Steve needed to learn.

"So, Cap, you sneaked into Finland so we could talk?" Tony asked doubtfully.

"I hoped we could talk," Steve said hesitantly. "Seems like we never were any good at it." He sighed and bumped his head back against the headrest, but continued to meet Tony's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"No, we weren't," Tony agreed. He settled back, making himself comfortable, looking less like he expected to fight his way out of a kidnap attempt, though his left hand continued to fiddle nervously with the "bracelet' on his right wrist. "You lied to me, Rogers," he said plainly.

Steve winced, but nodded. "A lie of omission, but those can be worse sometimes."

Both thought of Ultron and agreed.

"But I swear, I didn't know the Winter Soldier had anything to do with Howard's death. I found out the same time you did," Steve said.

"But you knew Hydra did," Tony accused.

"Yes ... sort of. Argh, it's complicated," Steve said in frustration. "Zola implied that Hydra had Howard killed, but he was a Nazi, Hydra computer brain who was trying to keep Nat and me distracted so SHIELD could kill us." Steve saw Tony's frown in the mirror. "See, complicated!" Steve said.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tony demanded with pain in his voice. "They were my parents!"

Steve sighed. "Things got so confused. I got distracted by homicidal helicarriers and my best friend returning from the dead."

"You should have told me right after Insight, Cap," Tony said sternly.

Steve couldn't help it. He laughed. "Sorry. I think I might have tried. Tony, you have repeatedly made fun of me for how loopy I was when you visited me in the hospital."

Tony's lips twitched in amusement as he remembered. He'd gotten into Cap's hospital room when the Super Soldier was recovering from a second surgery to remove bullet fragments missed during the first frantic rush to save his life. Steve was coming down from an opiate high. He'd been happy to see Tony and had babbled a confused story about Hydra and helicarriers and a computer with a human mind. It hadn't made a lick of sense, but Tony had pieced together most of the story a few days later using official reports and leaked information. Tony had never gone back to see the injured man again. By the time Tony had a chance to go back to DC, Steve was mostly healed and off searching for his bestie.

"You did say something about Howard," Tony remembered. "I thought you were just getting me mixed up with dad again."

That slip of the tongue had happened a few times, embarrassing both men.

"You never liked me to talk about Howard. I got used to avoiding the subject," Steve said. Even under these circumstances, Tony twitched when he heard that name from Steve's mouth. He caught himself doing it.

"OK, fair enough. So tell me now. Tell me everything," Tony demanded, steeling himself. "And no excuses."

"I'm not going to make excuses. I just want to explain what happened and when and why. I confess that I was wrong. I didn't tell you everything, but I'm not the only one guilty of that. All of the Avengers had secrets."

Tony knew Steve wasn't just talking about Howard's death, or Ultron's birth, but Barton's family and Tony's breakup with Pepper and all the other personal things the individual Avengers had kept private.

"Maybe none of us were friends, just colleagues," Tony said sadly.

"Almost friends, proto-friends," Steve offered.

Tony snorted at the word. "Kinda 'sciency' for you, Rogers."

"Maybe I'm not as stupid as you always thought I was," Steve answered with a little bite, but then shrugged. "Compared to a Stark, most people seem stupid," he accepted.

"It started when Natasha and I tracked a computer program to an early SHIELD base in New Jersey."

He explained how they'd found the ancient bank of computers in a hidden room, how the computers came alive with the personality and memories of an old Nazi scientist.

"Real science fiction stuff," Tony commented. He was leaning forward listening intently.

"Says the guy who flies around in a suit of armor," Steve retorted with a small smile. "Zola told us that Hydra had grown inside SHIELD from the beginning like a 'beautiful parasite.' And if anyone got close to discovering the secret, accidents would happen. Pictures flashed by on the screen, Tony, including Nick Fury's death notice and a newspaper article about Howard's death in a car accident." Steve turned to look Tony in the eye as best as he could. "I swear, Tony, I never associated the Winter Soldier with Howard's death. All I knew about him then was that he was a shooter. He shot Natasha; he shot Fury right through my wall! A rigged up car accident didn't seem to be in his skillset."

Tony nodded. "OK, but you did know Hydra killed my parents."

"That's what Zola said. But he was stalling, to send a message to SHIELD that we were there, so they could fire a missile at us. I wondered for half a second if the whole thing had been fake, just a trick to hold our attention, and then the roof fell in."

"Lucky you weren't killed."

"Well, it was a Cold War era bunker, meant to withstand an attack. The modern missile blew a hole in it, which just helped me dig out quicker. Then I was on the run from Rumlow and his gang, getting help from Sam, breaking into a military base, kidnapping a SHIELD officer, finding out about Project Insight and then finding out that the Winter Soldier was Bucky. And then came escaping from Rumlow, finding out Fury was still alive, breaking into the Smithsonian, breaking into SHIELD, sabotaging two helicarriers, fighting with my best friend, who shot me four times, and falling out of the smoking wreckage of the helicarrier into the river."

"OK, I get it. You were a little busy," Tony accepted.

"And the news clipping about Howard went to the back of my mind. I didn't think about it until months later, when Sam and I were taking out a small Hydra cell. I thought I should call you, tell you what I'd remembered. But it had been so long by then that I chickened out. I figured you'd find the info in the Hydra files that Nat released, even though I knew there were millions of files to go through and you probably wouldn't find it unless you searched for Howard specifically."

"Which I didn't," Tony sighed. "I was looking for more recent information, looking for the Scepter, not for 20-year-old information about my parents."

"Right, and then we had the Scepter, and Ultron and building the New Avengers and I let myself get busy and forget," Steve said guiltily. "Any time I thought of it, I couldn't think how to start that conversation. Hey, Tony, guess what I found out …" he said, too brightly.

"Not very heroic, Cap."

"I never said I was perfect," Steve said sadly. "And then came Lagos and the Accords. I was off my game with Peggy dying. And then Bucky was accused of bombing the UN. I believed him when he said he didn't do it. He'd kept ahead of Sam and me for two years. I knew if he had bombed the UN, he'd never have been so sloppy as to get caught on camera. I needed to help him. He was my friend."

"Why is 'Bucky' your best friend, Cap?" Tony blurted. "Why is he so much more important than the rest of us? You'd dump half your friends and lead the rest into disaster to help him?"

"Except for Sam, they didn't come to help Bucky. They came to stop more Winter Soldiers — who did exist. You saw them," Steve pointed out. "They came to help when the government, and you, wouldn't even listen."

Tony waved that sidetrack away. "But you, you ran off the rails, fought the police, broke the law, all for Barnes. He almost killed you like three times, Cap! Why is he more important than everyone else?"

"He calls me Steve," the Super Soldier interrupted Tony's rant.

Tony gawked as if punched in the gut.

"Everybody else is friends with Captain America. Bucky is the only one who knew Steve, who sees Steve, who believes in Steve! You've called me Cap six times in this conversation and you're the one who said I didn't deserve the shield!" Steve said passionately.

"Maybe Captain America stopped the Red Skull's plot and saved the country, then 70 years later helped the Avengers fight an alien invasion, but none of that would have happened if Bucky Barnes hadn't saved Steve Rogers a dozen times over. Bucky was always there for me when I needed him, whether I was fighting a bully or pneumonia. The one time he needed me, I let him down. He fell. He lost his arm. He was captured by the enemy and tortured and brainwashed for 70 years, because I couldn't grab him in time. I will not let him down again!"

Steve paused to catch his breath, then went on more temperately.

"Sam's a good friend, but he knew Captain America long before he met Steve Rogers. He got back into the fight because 'Captain America needed help.' Captain America is a figment of Senator Brandt's imagination. I am Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes is the only friend Steve has. He's the only friend I have."

Steve clenched his teeth and swallowed hard to stop the flood of words, then he went on with more control.

"We both approached the Accords from a place of fear, didn't we?" he said. It wasn't really a question. "You were afraid of what the Avengers might do, of what YOU might do. I was afraid of losing the only tie I have with Steve Rogers, that kid from Brooklyn. But I'm also afraid of what the government might do. Tony, I've seen what happens when the government starts sorting people by their ethnic group or their religion. I grew up in an age where you'd still see help wanted signs, 'No Irish need apply.' The Howling Commandos helped liberate a concentration camp, Jewish civilians with numbers tattooed on their arms. And don't say it can't happen in America," Steve warned. "Jim Morita's family was in an internment camp in the desert. One of his uncles committed suicide out of shame. Just because they were Japanese Americans. And look what Ross did with his power, sending cops after people who violated a law that hadn't even been ratified yet."

"You should have stopped," Tony said.

"You should have listened," Steve retorted.

Tony swallowed his fruitless anger. "If only we'd learned to actually talk to each other," he said, echoing Steve sentiment from earlier.

"Yeah, we never were any good at it."

"But at least we're practicing now," Tony offered.

"It's a little late," Steve said, smiling faintly.

"Never too late to learn. Old dogs. New tricks. The old dog, that's you," Tony said with a semblance of his habitual breeziness.

Tony's cellphone rang before Steve could reply. The caller ID listed the name of the hotel.

"Hey," the billionaire answered.

The phone wasn't on speaker, but the Super Soldier's enhanced hearing let him pick up every word.

"Are you all right, Mr. Stark?" asked the director of the conference. "We were getting worried. We expected you for the opening reception."

Tony winced. Right. The award. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I had an inspiration. I made the driver stop while I worked on it."

"That's a relief. We were afraid you'd had a breakdown."

For half a minute, Tony thought the man was being awfully personal, then he realized he was talking about a car breakdown.

"No, no breakdowns here, just a beautiful view of a lake that I've been shamefully ignoring."

"Where are you?"

"Where are we?" Tony asked Steve. He jolted to hear Steve answer with a Finnish accent. Damn, Cap was learning spycraft!

"We're at a turnout overlooking Pitkajarvi Lake, sir," Steve said humbly. "We're about halfway to Saariselka. We can be at the hotel in 15 minutes."

Tony relayed the information to the organizer. "We'll get on our way now. Sorry about messing up your schedule."

Steve started the car and pulled back onto the highway.

"Inspiration waits for no man — or conference," the organizer joked. "That is what our conference is all about, after all. And I'm sure no one minds an extra 15 minutes of appetizers and cocktails."

"If you'd said cocktails first, I'd have been there by now," Tony joked. After a few more pleasantries, he ended the call.

"Thanks for not saying your driver hijacked you," Steve said in his normal Steve voice.

"Thanks for not kidnapping me."

There were a few moments of silence, then Tony cleared his throat. "I was wondering — oh, thanks for the Christmas CD, by the way, we enjoyed it. Rhodey played it every day until New Years and Friday, I swear, Friday cried AI tears of joy that you sent her personal greetings."

"I'm glad," Steve replied. "We … we miss you guys."

"We couldn't send anything back because, darn it, you forgot to include a forwarding address, but Vision visited the children's hospital on your behalf and Rhodey helped out with that disabled veterans Christmas party Wilson usually volunteered at and I treated a foster kids group to a shopping spree and a visit to the zoo. Because, uh, we miss you guys, too."

Steve's grin was as bright as the sun. "Thanks, Tony. I worried about the kids in the hospital and I'll make sure to tell the others you guys subbed for us. That's great."

Tony looked a little embarrassed by Steve's effusive gratitude. "But, as I started to say, I wondered why Barnes didn't sing on the CD, too."

He held his breath, worried that Steve would say his pal had died of his injuries. In the mirror, Steve's eyes looked sad.

"We made a CD for Bucky, too," he explained. "It was a gift for all our friends we couldn't be with over the holidays."

"So, he's not with you?" Tony was surprised but relieved Barnes wasn't dead.

"No, he … had himself locked up so he can't hurt anyone else. He's … afraid of himself after what Zemo did."

"Where…?" Tony stopped himself before he could say more.

"I won't tell you where, Tony," Steve said. "And don't make me try to lie. I know you could find us if you really tried. You're a computer genius and you have Friday and Vision. We can't stay hidden from every camera out there. If you really wanted to find us, you could. So, since you haven't shown up on my doorstep, I'm assuming you're not trying very hard."

"No. Not trying at all," Tony agreed. "And Vision and Friday go and mess up all of Ross' searches just for fun. You're safe from facial recognition at least. It's the least I can do after I messed everything up."

"Don't take too much credit. We were both not thinking straight, losing Pepper and Peggy. We messed it up together," Steve answered.

"At least we did something together," Tony joked weakly, as they pulled into the hotel driveway.

"Thanks for everything, Tony," Steve said. "Call me if you need me. I really mean it."

"I'll do that," Tony answered, as a bellman opened the car door for him. "Thanks for the ride and the conversation."

"You're welcome, sir," Steve answered in his Finnish accent.

Tony stuffed a wad of Euros at Steve, the same year's wage tip he'd given the man at the airport. "Thanks for everything," he said, as he was ushered into the hotel.

"You're welcome for everything," Steve said to himself, as he watched his friend turn away.

Tony hesitated, then turned back and leaned into the driver's window.

"Bye, Steve. Nice seeing you again," he said quietly.

Steve smiled. "Bye, Tony," he answered just as quietly. "I hope to see you again soon."

"Under better circumstances," Tony agreed, then he went into his conference to receive his accolades and Steve drove away to resume his life as a fugitive.

The snowy forest passed, reminding Steve of a poem. "These woods are lovely, dark and deep," Steve quoted to himself. "But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep."

Steve grinned and pressed the accelerator to make those miles pass faster, because he had promises to keep.

* * *

 _A/N: I was watching a Travel Channel program about ice hotels, that's why this happened in Finland. The poem is Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." It was published in 1923, so Steve could have read it as a child._


	37. Pushing People Away

**Pushing People Away**

"You don't have to leave, you know."

Natasha Romanoff started violently, spinning away from the open suitcase on the bed.

Laura Barton rolled her eyes at Natasha's dramatics. She knew no one in the house could sneak up on the Black Widow. Even when Wanda Maximoff levitated, Natasha felt the air movement.

Natasha smirked at her friend. "Just practicing for when Lila 'surprises' me."

"I meant what I said." Laura refused to be distracted. "You and Clint have made sure that we're safe here. We have new IDs and a new home. There's no sign of pursuit. The kids are glad to have Auntie Nat here; Wanda is benefiting from your training and I love having my 'sister-in-law' here."

Natasha smiled fondly at the designation of "sister-in-law," but shook her head. "I have to go. I'll be back, but for now, there's something I need to do."

"Does this have to do with Dr. Banner?" Laura asked with a slyness that couldn't mask her concern. "I know you liked him. Clint said you were visibly upset that he ran away." Natasha was never visibly emotional about anything.

"He didn't run away," Natasha corrected, turning back to continue her packing and to hide her face from her too-perceptive friend. "I pushed him."

Laura laughed shortly. "You always push people away. It's your way of protecting yourself. Everyone who knows you knows that. I'm sure Dr. Banner …"

Natasha giggled, a half-hysterical sound that made Laura's mouth snap shut in shock.

"I didn't push him away figuratively," Natasha said in a strangled voice. "I pushed him away literally. Bruce came into Ultron's dungeon to rescue me and I pushed him off a cliff."

"What?" Laura gasped. "Why?"

"Because we needed the Hulk. I was ready to run away with Bruce, but he wanted to go right then. I couldn't. I couldn't leave my friends, my partners. Clint and Steve especially, but all the Avengers were counting on us. I put everyone else ahead of the man who loved me and I pushed him off a cliff to awaken the Hulk."

Laura frowned. "I think it was pretty cowardly of him to want to run when his friends were going into battle, especially when he can't get hurt," said the woman whose all-too-human husband was nearly killed on the floating city.

"Bruce was traumatized," Natasha explained. "All of us were when Wanda showed us our nightmares, but Hulk trashed half a city under her influence. He really thought everyone was safer without him. All he wanted to do was escape, but I couldn't." Natasha's voice caught and she almost whispered, "I had to make sure Clint came home to you."

Laura caught her sister in a fierce hug, rubbing her back like she did when Lila cried. "Thank you," Laura said. "I like having him around."

Cooper appeared at the door. "Dad says it's time to go," he reported.

"She'll be right there," Laura answered. "Tell him not to forget the helium tank," she told her son, who scooted off.

Natasha stepped back, knuckling her eyes. "I pushed Bruce away, but now I have to find him. I have to make sure he's OK. I have to apologize. I promised myself I would. First I'll keep my promise to Steve, then that one to myself."

"Try not to have too much fun without me," Laura said.

Natasha chuckled against her will.

Laura said, "Just remember, whatever happens, you always have a home with us. You can't push hard enough to push us away."

"And I wouldn't want to," Natasha agreed, and hugged her sister again.

 _A/N: That's the helium tank from the Valentine's Day balloons. These chapters are fitting together in ways I didn't expect when I started them.  
Next week I will probably post on Friday instead of Saturday, because reasons._


	38. Awakening

**Awakening**

As he woke up, he knew he was cold, and he knew that was a bad thing. He struck out, feebly. His hand was caught and enfolded in a warm grip.

"Easy, Buck. You're OK. You're safe," said Steve Rogers' familiar voice.

Bucky relaxed, flexing his wrist to grip Steve's hand in turn. If Steve was there, then he was safe. He didn't doubt it for a second.

"Atta boy," Steve said in approval. "You're safe. You're in Wakanda, remember? You asked them to put you in the cryo chamber. I promised I'd be here when you got out."

Bucky fought to open eyelids that seemed as heavy as lead weights. He blinked, caught a fuzzy glimpse of his friend, then blinked again to clear his vision.

Steve was standing beside the upright cryo chamber. A white-coated, dark-skinned doctor hovered behind Steve, taking notes on a computer tablet. The doctor gave Bucky a bright, encouraging smile.

"All vital signs are within expected parameters," he said. "You are doing well."

"You with me?" Steve asked his dazed friend.

"Where else would I be?" Bucky said hoarsely. "I haven't gone anywhere."

Steve chuckled. "Ready to get out of the box?"

"I guess?" Bucky said doubtfully.

"There's a bed right over there," Steve said with a tip of his head. "The orderly and I will help you over there."

"'Kay."

With the orderly and Steve supporting Bucky on each wide, they walked the few steps to the bed and helped him sit, then lie down. Bucky was still cold, which made sense coming out of cryo freeze, but he felt off. Then he realized it was because he wasn't wet. Hydra had hosed him down with water as part of the thawing process.

The orderly brought a warm blanket to drape across Bucky's body. He sighed with relief at the pleasant sensation. "Hydra turned a hose on me to thaw me out. This is much better," he said.

Steve's jaw clenched for a moment, but he smiled for his friend.

"Yeah, this cryo chamber has a defrost setting," said another familiar voice. Natasha Romanoff moved into view. "Kinda like an oversized microwave."

"But we do not cook our guests," the doctor said severely. "That practice was abandoned in the early 1900s."

Everyone looked at him to see if he was serious. His twinkling eyes let them know he wasn't.

"Great, you have a comedian for a doctor," Natasha said. "How you feeling, Barnes?"

"Better by the moment," Bucky said truthfully. "So whose side are you on at the moment?"

"Yours — for the moment," Natasha answered with a smirk.

"Be nice, Buck," Steve said. "I asked Natasha to come just in case you started speaking Russian. I've been practicing but …"

"I have more practice," Natasha finished.

Bucky heard a rustle of cloth from out of his view. "Someone else here?"

"I am," said Wanda Maximoff, as she moved around Steve so Bucky could see her.

"Ah, you're the stopper," Bucky guessed.

She smiled kindly. "In case the cold revived the Winter Soldier, I could stop you without anyone getting hurt — and so Steve didn't have to fight you."

Bucky remembered her throwing cars around at the airport and thought she might just be able to control the Winter Soldier. It was a relief to think Steve wouldn't have had to fight him again.

"But you seem to be in your right mind for a change," Natasha praised. "Well done."

"Nat," Steve warned, but she just smirked at him.

Bucky thought it was kind of nice to be treated like just another guy. He yawned, surprising himself.

"You should take a nap while your system stabilizes," the doctor advised.

"No offense, doc, but I've been napping for … how long?"

"Almost 10 months," the Dr. Uviwe answered. There was a slightly expectant look in his eyes that Bucky couldn't account for.

"Ten months," Bucky parroted. "Isn't that a long enough nap?"

"It's not the same," Steve said. "Trust me, I know. Get a little rest, then we'll talk some more."

Bucky yawned again. He'd just opened his eyes, now he couldn't keep them open.

"Can you cure me?" Bucky asked the doctor.

Steve answered for him. "It's gonna be a process, Buck," he said with regret. "The doctors have been studying your case. Now they need to run some tests."

"It's not going to be an instant cure, Mr. Barnes," Uviwe said kindly. "We have no pill to cure brainwashing."

"No, couldn't be that easy," Bucky said ruefully.

"But at least we will make a start," the doctor said in encouragement. "Now get some rest."

"I guess that'll have to be good enough," Bucky said. He looked at Steve. "You'll be here?" he asked.

"Not going anywhere," his friend assured him.

* * *

When Bucky woke up the second time, he felt more alert, ready to jump up and start his day. When he moved, though, his body felt stiff from 10 months of disuse.

He groaned, tottering upright like an old man with severe arthritis. He tried to lever himself to a sitting position, but his hand slipped and he would have face-planted. Steve grabbed his shoulder and steadied him until the one-armed man found his balance.

"Feeling all my 99 years right now," Bucky joked.

Steve gave him a look he couldn't translate.

"Making you feel old, too?" Bucky asked.

Steve grinned. "You're bound to be stiff after not moving for so long. Bound to be hungry, too."

Bucky's stomach growled like a tiger in response.

They both laughed out loud.

"Sounds like our cue," Natasha said. She and Wanda entered, pushing a cart laden with six times the food a man should need for breakfast — making it just about right for two super soldiers and two guests.

While they were eating, Dr. Uviwe returned with some odd-looking equipment. One cap looked like a football helmet from Bucky's day — the old leatherhead style. Bucky turned it around in his hands, noting the sticky metallic patches scattered around the inside.

"These will allow us to monitor your vital signs while you go about your daily activities," the doctor explained. "They send the information electronically, so you do not have to be tethered to a machine. With this, we can develop a baseline for your physical and mental condition."

"Whatever you say, doc."

Steve helped the one-armed man ruck up his T-shirt while the doctor fastened a strap around his chest, to measure heartbeat, respiration and other vitals. Then Dr. Uviwe settled the helmet on Bucky's head, pressing firmly at the temples and the forehead.

Bucky felt the patches stick to his skin. It felt strange, but not uncomfortable. After a few moments, he hardly noticed the equipment.

After eating a hearty breakfast, Bucky and Steve talked for a while to let their food settle, then went to the gym to work out. They warmed up slowly, giving Bucky a chance to get the kinks out and adapt to his lopsided balance.

Just as he was about to suggest something more strenuous, a black figure dropped from the rafters, driving Steve to the ground.

Bucky's heart raced when he saw his fallen friend. His mind raced, how could he have missed an assailant in the rafters? His body reacted automatically.

Bucky charged the attacker, swift and dangerous despite his handicap. He snatched a wooden staff from a rack and swung at the dark figure, driving him away from Steve. Bucky stood protectively over his friend, scowling at the enemy, twirling the staff overhead one-handed, as if it were a helicopter blade.

Then he realized the figure was the Black Panther.

"What the hell? I thought we were friends?"

"Yeah, what the hell?" Steve echoed, rubbing the back of his head and scooting sideways so he could sit up without bumping into Bucky or the whirling stick.

T'Challa chuckled as he pulled off his mask and held up his hands apologetically. "Peace, friends. The doctor said he needed a surprise attack to see whether Sgt. Barnes or the Winter Soldier responded."

"So you attacked me?" Steve complained.

"I told him Barnes would react stronger to an attack on Rogers than an attack on himself." Natasha sauntered into the gym and stood next to the king. The two looked perilous in their respective black catsuits.

"This was a test?" Bucky asked incredulously, making Steve choke on laughter behind him.

"Yes, and you passed," Natasha said matter-of-factly. "Now, let's spar!"

She charged at the soldiers. Steve rolled out of the way and into a crouch. Bucky spun aside and swung his stick at Natasha. She dove over it, somersaulting to her feet and continuing toward Steve who braced to meet her. The two former SHIELD partners began a familiar dance of strike, parry and dodge. Bucky would have been mesmerized, but he remembered there was a second opponent behind him. He felt a breath of air moving and ducked. T'Challa flew over his head, missing his strike. The king landed easily in a crouch facing Barnes.

Bucky grinned. "Here, kitty, kitty."

T'Challa barked a laugh and, keeping his claws sheathed, struck at Bucky who used the stick to fend him off.

The heroes battled for an hour, trading opponents once in awhile. When a buzzer sounded, T'Challa, Natasha and Steve all backed off immediately.

"The doc said one hour only," Steve explained. "He wants you to take it slow, since you're fresh out of cryo."

"A lot more thoughtful than Hydra ever was," Bucky commented.

He and Steve returned to the medical wing where a nurse removed the sensors and, with a motherly smile, sent the sweaty, smelly men to the showers.

They were in the medical wing, not the gym, so they had individual dressing rooms. When Bucky stepped out of the deliciously hot water, he found a pair of gray pants and a nice button-down, navy blue shirt waiting for him. It was a nicer outfit than he expected, but buttoning shirts was easier for him than pulling one over his head one-handed. And the left sleeve was already neatly pinned up. He appreciated the thoughtfulness.

When he came out of the private dressing room, he found Steve dressed much the same, in a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of khaki slacks.

"Getting all dolled up for me, Stevie?" he teased, batting his eyes.

"Anything for my best guy," Steve answered, punching Bucky lightly in the chest.

They met Dr. Uviwe in his office. Natasha was waiting for them, wearing a summery flowered dress, her slightly damp hair curling as it air-dried.

"Looking nice, Nat," Steve said in approval.

"Well, thought I'd dress up," she answered in an offhand manner. "Not every day you thaw a super soldier. We ought to celebrate."

Bucky didn't see the warning glance Steve gave her. His attention was on the doctor.

"So, what's the plan, doc?" he asked, understandably nervous, yet anxious to begin.

"We will begin by speaking your trigger words — out of order and with random words in between," Uviwe hastened to reassure his patient. "We will monitor you to see what areas of the brain each word triggers. We believe that each word triggers something different — pain, traumatic memories, most likely. Obedience may even trigger the pleasure centers."

Bucky nodded his understanding and the doctor continued.

"When we have mapped the responses, we will have a better idea how to proceed. We hope to counter the triggers, perhaps chemically, perhaps electronically — it will depend on the area of the brain. Miss Maximoff believes she can substitute good memories for bad ones. Eventually, those words in Russian will merely be words, we hope."

"But it will take time," Steve warned.

"It's already been ten months," Bucky replied.

"We needed to prepare our equipment," Dr. Uviwe said apologetically. "We hoped to start in December, so we could wake you for Christmas; but there was anti-Inhuman trouble, so it wasn't safe for your friends to travel. And we had promised not to wake you until Captain Rogers was here."

Christmas? That rang an odd bell. "I had a dream about Christmas, that you sang Christmas carols for me," Bucky said to Steve and Natasha. "And … Amazing Grace?"

A huge grin exploded on Steve's face. "You heard it! T'Challa's scientists thought you had. We sent you a CD of carols, since we couldn't come ourselves."

"Huh, I'd like to hear that while I'm awake," Bucky said.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Natasha said.

The doctor cleared his throat to reclaim Bucky's attention. "I warn you, we may have to recite all the words eventually to measure the full effect," he said solemnly.

Bucky flinched, but agreed that might be the only way to judge the full effect on his brain.

"I guess you can't dig out a bullet until you can find it," he said bravely. "Who will do the reading?"

A voice barked in Russian, "Chocolate, balloon, shaving cream!"

Bucky cringed at the authoritative sound, then realized none of those were trigger words. He looked at Steve in surprise.

Cap shrugged. "I've been practicing." He gestured at Natasha.

"You sound just like Karpov," Bucky said, impressed.

"Karpov was from Leningrad, aka, Saint Petersburg," Natasha said, giving both names to make sure everyone understood. "I taught Steve Russian with a Leningrad accent. I thought it might reinforce the commands."

Bucky felt enormous relief that Steve would be the one to trigger him. He trusted Steve more than he trusted himself — a lot more. And if Steve said the words, the Winter Soldier would never attack him. Bucky couldn't bear the thought of attacking Steve again.

With a burst of optimism, Bucky said, "When can we start?"

"Tomorrow," Uviwe said. "I must study the sensor data and your friends want to celebrate."

"Celebrate?" Bucky's forehead furrowed in a confused frown.

Steve and Natasha chuckled.

"Really, Buck, you haven't figured it out yet?" Steve pulled his friend to his feet and towed him out the door, giving the doctor a quick salute as they left.

Natasha followed the super soldiers down the hall, out of the medical building to another complex across the sun-filled plaza. She pulled out her phone. "On our way," she reported.

"What's going on?"

"C'mon, Buck," Steve coaxed, as they entered a conference building. "You've been here ten months. Doesn't that mean anything?"

Ten months. He'd gone into cryo in May, so ten months would make it March. He frowned thoughtfully. March used to mean something important, but it had been so long, it actually took him a minute to remember.

Steve strode up to a door marked "Private Party."

Party?

"Wait, is today the 10th?" Bucky asked with an odd mix of anticipation, embarrassment and disbelief.

Steve smiled with anticipation and no embarrassment at all. "March 10, 2017." He swung the door wide open to reveal decorated tables, festive decorations and a crowd of people who yelled, "Surprise!"

"Happy 100th birthday, Bucky," Steve said.

* * *

There was a table loaded with food along the left side and a bunch of rogue Avengers in front, with a few Wakandan friends, including Doctor Uviwe who had run around the back way to get there in time to see the reveal. The Wakandans stood politely near the back so Bucky's comrades could greet him. Number-shaped balloons in metallic colors formed bobbing 100s all around the room, which was also decorated with canes, walkers, ear trumpets, magnifying glasses and other senior citizen paraphernalia.

Above everything was a hand-painted banner that read "Happy 100th Birthday!" The 100 was twice as big as the rest and covered with so much multi-colored glitter that every breath of air sent a sparkling cloud drifting down. A faint red cloud intercepted the glitter and funneled it into a waiting bowl.

"My kids made the banner," Clint Barton said, pushing up a wheelchair decorated with metallic gold paper so it looked like a throne. "Lila went a little overboard with the glitter."

"You think?" Sharon Carter said, moving to stand next to Steve.

"I shook it out three times, but glitter is pervasive," Clint protested.

Wanda intercepted another drift of glitter.

"Nice control," Sam Wilson complimented her, as he came up to slap the flabbergasted birthday boy on the back.

"I've been practicing … on Lego bricks and Cheerios," Wanda said dryly.

"Until my kids decided they didn't need to clean up their toys because 'Wanda will do it'," Clint said. "So I told her to put the toys on their bedrooms floors."

Several people flinched at the memory of walking on Lego bricks barefoot.

"Now Wanda leaves the toys in piles, but the kids put them away," Natasha said.

Everyone chuckled, but the laughter died away nervously, because Bucky still hadn't said anything. They were alarmed when tears began to stream down his face. He began to shake.

"Whoa," Sam said. He and Steve both reached for Bucky, but hesitated when he shook his head violently.

"Everybody back up. Give him some space," Sam suggested.

"No, I'm OK," he said in a choked voice. He wiped his arm across his eyes. "I'm so happy. It's been so long since I was happy, I don't remember how to rein it in."

The others were relieved. Bucky still looked shaky, so Clint wheeled the throne behind him and nudged the back of his legs. Bucky sat down heavily, gratefully, and scrubbed his face with his hand.

"OK, I'm good," he said after a moment. "It's just been so long … I'm more used to punishment than kindness. I'm overwhelmed."

The Avengers were uncertain how to proceed. The party was just getting started. Would it be too much for Barnes? But Steve knew him best.

"So, does that mean you don't want lunch, or presents, or cake?" he asked slyly.

Bucky sat up straight. "I didn't say that!" he protested, making everyone laugh, as much with relief as amusement. "I just need a minute. But I don't want you to stop. I don't want to miss a thing," He surveyed the room. "I love it all. Everything. All the stupid canes and the ear trumpet — where the hell did you get an ear trumpet?"

"Antique store," Sharon said proudly.

"You're a wonder, Carter. An amazing quartermaster. Your aunt would be proud," Bucky said.

Sharon blushed and deflected. "Clint was in charge of the decorations."

"Antiques for the antique," the archer joked.

As he pushed Bucky's throne into the room, the air stirred and another drift of glitter wafted down. Wanda gave an exaggerated sigh and raised her hand.

"No," Bucky said quietly. "Let it fall."

He raised his face toward the ceiling, as if the glitter was sunlight. He felt it speckle his face with flecks of color. It looked like glitter makeup, Natasha thought in amusement.

"A bedazzled soldier!" Clint joked.

"No, just dazzled," Bucky answered. "Dazzled by friendship."

* * *

 _A/N: Yes, according to one MCU source, Bucky was born March 10, 1917. More party to come next week. FF dot net doesn't like me to upload much more than 3,000-word chapters._


	39. Bucky's Birthday

**Bucky's Birthday**

 **Part 1**

Everyone smiled to see the fearsome Winter Soldier's face freckled with glitter. Bucky looked around, giving each of his comrades a personal smile of gratitude. Looking beyond Natasha, he caught a glimpse of a table with a modest pile of colorfully wrapped presents.

He'd thought Steve was joking about presents. He didn't deserve presents.

"You didn't have to get me anything," he said, almost shyly. "You hardly know me."

The Avengers were sobered to realize just how long it had been since anyone had done something nice for Bucky Barnes — twice their lifespans, three times Wanda's, at least.

"We wanted to," Sam said with quiet firmness. "You deserve it."

"Besides, it's fun to buy gifts for people," Clint said breezily, sticking to his self-appointed role as class clown.

"I'm sorry it's not more," Sharon said honestly.

"Yeah, but what do you get for a Popsicle," Natasha joked, ruffling Bucky's hair.

"Bucky never cared so much about presents," Steve said, forcing words past the lump in his throat to draw attention away from his embarrassed friend. "You always cared more about the food."

"Mmm," Bucky said, remembering. "Ma's chicken and dumplings. Ooh, or Irish stew."

Steve rolled his eyes. "All ma's stew was Irish," he pointed out. It was a long (long, long!) standing Barnes/Rogers joke.

"I don't remember … how long has it been since I had an actual birthday party?" Bucky asked Steve.

"Since you were 12," Steve answered without hesitation. He'd been thinking about Bucky and birthdays for weeks.

"Right, 1929," Bucky agreed. "After that, it didn't seem right to ask for a big party and presents."

"Yeah, you told your parents to save the money so your little sisters could have parties, because they were too young to understand about the Great Depression and you were a grownup man of 13. But we always had a nice dinner with your family and ma and me. Our mothers cooked up a storm for you," Steve said.

"And we always had two desserts," Bucky remembered.

"Because you couldn't decide which you liked better," Steve chuckled. "Ma's apple pie or your ma's chocolate cake."

Sam cleared his throat ostentatiously and stepped aside, so Bucky could see the buffet table clearly. There were two big tureens steaming gently, several platters of various foods — fruits, vegetables, cheeses and spicy Wakandan dishes. There also was a carving station with a big ham and a crown roast of beef — something Bucky had seen only once in his long deprived life.

And in pride of place, perched on cake stands under spotlights, were a glistening chocolate layer cake and two golden brown pies with lattice tops.

Bucky's mouth watered. "

"Can I start with chocolate cake?" Bucky asked wistfully.

"You know what your father would say about that," Steve said sternly.

Bucky remembered. _"Don't be ungrateful for the hard work your mother and Mrs. Rogers put in to provide this feast,"_ his father would have said. Then he would have tempered his stern words with a smile, _"The cake will still be there when we're done."_

"Or your mother," Steve added.

" _Sweets come after the meal, James, not before."_

"But I'm not your mother or your father, so you can start and finish with cake, if you want," Steve finished with a grin.

"Yay!" Bucky cheered as if he were a little kid.

He pointed toward the buffet table. "To the cake, slave!" he ordered.

"Yes, marster," Clint groveled in a thick Igor accent. He raised one shoulder high and, with a lopsided gait, galloped toward the table, pushing the wheelchair-throne rapidly. The Avengers dodged aside, laughing. They'd met the Winter Soldier and Sgt. James Barnes, but this was someone new. Only Steve recognized this childlike, enthusiastic person, and even Steve hadn't seen him in ages.

Steve wiped a tear from his smiling face. Sharon pressed close to one side and Wanda to the other. They twined arms with the Super Soldier and escorted him to the table.

Bucky was fully determined to eat a large slice of cake immediately, but when he saw what else was on the table, he rose to his feet in awe.

His eyes were drawn to two steaming tureens. "Is that my mother's chicken and dumplings? And your ma's Irish stew?" he asked.

"As best as I can remember," Steve said modestly.

Bucky knew the serum had given Steve perfect recall, even of events that took place before he became Captain America. It caused him terrible nightmares, sometimes, but it also enabled him to remember his mother's voice — and her cooking lessons.

"I don't know if it's just like your mama used to make, but it's darn good," Sam said.

"You've tried it?" Bucky sounded possessive.

Sam laughed. "Of course. Steve's been practicing on Sharon and me for two weeks to make sure he got it right for you."

"And then he had to demonstrate it for the chefs here," Sharon added.

"So, if you don't mind, I'm going to try some of these Wakandan delicacies. No offense," Sam said.

"More for me, Wilson," Bucky said, wishing he could rub his hands together gleefully.

The birthday boy surveyed the bounty — not really an overwhelming amount for hearty eaters like the hardworking Avengers — but more food than Bucky had ever seen outside an army mess tent. Then he sighed and regarded his one arm.

"There are times when having only one hand gets frustrating," he said. "But no more so than when I want to load a tray with food."

"Taken care of," Natasha said behind him.

She gestured at the wheelchair, which now had a tray fastened across the arms. Sharon had taken over the helm. "Pick what you want and I'll deliver it to the table for you."

Bucky beamed. He picked up a plate and began to move down the line. Everyone followed along, more interested in enjoying his enjoyment than collecting their own lunches.

Servers offered Wakandan specialties, dishes of vegetables and platters of fruit and cheese. Bucky took a polite helping of just about everything — he suddenly had a raging appetite. He paused at the carving station.

His favorite stews from childhood were easy for a one-armed man to eat, but he wasn't so sure about the ham and beef. Ham had been the Barnes family holiday meat of choice, because it lasted without spoiling. And the beef was something extra special.

King T'Challa moved next to Barnes and gestured toward the standing rib roast.

"Will you try a slice of prime rib?" he suggested. "We Wakandans pride ourselves on our beef."

Bucky couldn't turn it down now, not that he really wanted to.

"It looks swell," he answered. "We never had a nice roast like that. We always had cheaper cuts of beef when I was growing up. I've only seen a roast like that once."

Steve laughed. "I remember."

"And I only tasted it because Steve swiped a hunk from the officer's mess to share with the Commandos."

"That was mostly Peggy Carter's doing," Steve corrected. "But I was her willing accomplice."

"I hope we get to hear that story," Sharon said wistfully. "That's a new one on me."

"Yeah, we want lots of embarrassing Steve Rogers stories," Clint put in.

"I promise to sing for my supper," Bucky said, "If you let me get my supper!"

Bucky wondered how he'd cut the slices of meat, and resigned himself to asking for help like a little kid. But the carver cut a portion of ham, then, with a few quick moves, deftly sliced it into bite-sized pieces and scooped it onto Bucky's plate. He repeated the actions with a substantial slice of beef.

"Thank you," Bucky said gratefully.

"My pleasure, sergeant," the man said in a deep, melodious voice. "Many happy returns of the day."

Clint almost choked with laughter at the thought of a hundred more birthdays. Sam put his arm around Clint's shoulders and firmly clamped his and on the archer's mouth.

"Many happier returns, Barnes," the flier said.

"Thanks, Wilson. You can let him go now. He sounds like a teakettle about to boil over."

"Sorry, pal," Clint apologized.

"I get it," Bucky said. "I'm having a hard time believing myself."

Bucky finally came to the two tureens of his childhood birthday favorites. He asked the woman server for a big bowl of chicken and dumplings and another of Irish stew. He carefully transferred each to the loaded tray on the wheelchair.

"I think that's enough to start with," he joked. "Are the rest of you going to eat? Or just stare at me all night?"

Chuckling, the Avengers playfully jostled for a place at the buffet line, while Sharon delivered Bucky and his food to the head table.

Bucky regarded the cake as he passed by. "I'll be back for you," he promised.

Sam studied the bubbles popping in the two stews. He nudged Clint.

"When I first met Steve, he said the food was better now because they used to boil everything. Now I know what he meant."

Clint disagreed. "Stewing is not the same as boiling," the family man stated firmly.

"No?" Sam questioned. "Food soaked in hot water sounds like boiling to me." He put his arm around the archer's neck again and pointed at the glistening chocolate cake. "Pal, Steve even boiled the frosting."

"Icing," Bucky and Steve corrected from opposite sides of the room. "Boiled icing," Steve added for clarity.

"Wait? That's really a thing?" Clint protested. "You can boil frosting?"

"Icing!"

* * *

 _A/N: Yes, boiled icing (and frosting) are a thing. There's a recipe in my mom's old cookbook. When I heard about boiled icing, I thought of Steve and his "we boiled everything" line.  
Also, about Steve's memory. There's a school of thought that says we never actually forget anything, we just lose access to it. So, with perfect serum-enhanced recall, Steve can remember back to his childhood.  
No idea how many chapters the party will require. Stay tuned._


	40. Bucky's Birthday, Part 2

_A/N: References to Reconstruction Chapters 30 and 31 and "Captain America: The First Avenger."_

* * *

 **Bucky's Birthday**

 **Part 2**

For a few blissful moments, the Avengers just ate, satisfying their appetites.

The only words spoken were "Please pass the water" and "You've got to try this."

Bucky's eyes were half-closed in pleasure as he scooped spoonfuls of chicken and dumplings. It proved to be a full sensory experience. The taste on his tongue brought back memories — the sound of laughter and song, the feel of loving hugs and pats on the back, the scent of his mother's dusting powder, his father's aftershave and the sharp smell of antiseptic from the nurse, Sarah Rogers. The food gave him the clearest memory yet of the love of his family, bringing tears to his eyes and causing a smile that made his cheeks ache.

"Did I get it right?" Steve asked anxiously from the seat beside Bucky.

"Perfect. So many memories, good memories," Bucky said, making Steve smile.

Bucky decided he'd better try something else, before he bawled in his plate.

He sniffed the Irish stew as he raised the spoon to his lips. He frowned. He sipped the liquid and looked confused.

Steve saw and nodded. "Not exactly the same, is it?"

"I'm not complaining," Bucky said hastily.

"I know," Steve reassured him. "Turns out it's easier to get lamb than mutton in the U.S. these days."

"Seems a shame to waste lamb on a stew," Bucky said. Stewing was for older, tougher meat, after all, not tender lamb. He took a mouthful, chewing meat and vegetables together. The flavor was milder, letting the herbs shine through.

"I take it back. This is different, but really good. Your ma would have liked this."

"I think so," Steve agreed. "She deserved lamb and prime rib and all the nice things," he said a little sadly.

And she never complained when she didn't get them, the men remembered. And she was grateful for the smallest things — a sparkling rock, a piece of ice fallen from the iceman's cart, a dandelion plucked from a crack in the sidewalk.

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, praying that he could be as serene and appreciative for whatever he received. He hoped to be healed, but prayed that he would be grateful for whatever progress he made. He was free from Hydra and reunited with his best pal, everything else should just be gravy.

He'd eaten half a bowl in pensive gratitude. His emotions needed a rest. He moved the bowls aside and dug into a spicy Wakandan casserole — chicken, rice and vegetables — that didn't remind him of anything!

"You and Sam been keeping Steve in line?" he asked Sharon, who sat on Steve's far side.

"Aunt Peggy always said it took two of you," Sharon replied.

Steve protested comically. Bucky laughed.

"He's still a trouble magnet, Barnes," Sam said. "You wouldn't think he could get into trouble working at a Christmas charity drive, would you?"

"I would!" Bucky, Natasha and Clint chorused over Steve's laughing objections.

Sam told the story of the would-be bicycle thieves and how they were foiled by Nomad, Tracy and Laughing Owl. When Clint mocked the Laughing Owl moniker, the flier let loose with his manic cackle (patent pending) and Clint admitted that would be darn spooky in the dark. "I didn't get to use it on the Lobos," Sam admitted. "But my new drone worked great."

Clint bowed, accepting imaginary congratulations for his work creating the drone. Natasha punched his shoulder.

"So, all you did was put together bicycles, and yet you discovered a burglary attempt?" T'Challa asked Steve.

"Typical," Natasha said.

"Hey, I'm not the only trouble magnet," Steve protested. "Let me tell you what happened on New Year's Eve, when Sam was kissing strange women and Sharon was beating up strange men."

"Hey!" the two objected.

Steve told the story with gusto, while the others threw in corrections and complaints

Bucky mock scowled. "Doesn't sound like you're doing a very good job at keeping Steve in line."

"You weren't perfect at it, either, Buck," Steve said dryly. "Seems like every time we went to Coney Island you got me in trouble. Like insisting we go on the Cyclone when I was recovering from the flu. I threw up," he told the others. "And like using all our money to try to win a prize for some gal you hardly knew. She threw him over for a guy who offered her a ride home in his flivver. We rode home in the back of an ice truck! And only because Mr. Seward was a friend of my ma's."

Everybody laughed while Bucky argued, "That was two times! I can name dozens of others when I pulled you out of trouble of your own making."

"Yes! Stories!" Clint insisted. "You promised us embarrassing Steve stories."

Bucky went to town, telling half a dozen similar tales about scrawny Steve standing up for a bullied little girl, or a tormented puppy or kitten. "They were about to shove him headfirst into the grocer's trash can, which was full of rotten produce, when I came up behind them."

"He kicked Smollets in the back of the knee. Smollets fell backwards, so he landed in the mud and I landed on top of him," Steve said.

"Then I started punching the other two. I didn't see Smollets coming behind me, but Steve whacked him on the kneecap with a piece of a wooden crate and they decided they'd better move on," Bucky finished.

Steve appreciated Bucky choosing that story. It had been one of his better showings as a kid.

"Even my last day in town, the day before I shipped out to Europe, I had to go looking for Steve. I checked every alley and, sure enough, I found him brawling in the alley behind the movie theater. If you could call that brawling," Bucky said.

"I had him on the ropes," Steve grumbled, not seriously.

"Lying on your back with your fists raised is not a victory," Bucky replied.

Bucky and Steve told about that night, about "going to the future."

"Who knew how accurate that would be," said Steve, the man out of time, to his chronologically displaced pal.

"So you actually saw Stark's father at his expo?" Sam was fascinated. That expo was historic for the many technological advances that came out of it.

"Yeah, there was some interesting stuff, but his flying car was a bust," Bucky said.

"And there still aren't any flying cars," Steve said. "That was my big disappointment in the future."

"The way people drive, it's just as well there aren't any flying cars," Natasha said. "But now we can look forward to self-driving cars."

"Honest, officer, it wasn't me. It was the computer!" Clint griped, making everyone chuckle.

"And the officer will be a drone," Sam said.

"The expo was where you met Dr. Erskine, wasn't it, Steve?" Sharon asked.

"As soon as my back was turned, he went off and volunteered to be a guinea pig," Bucky grumbled.

"It worked out," Steve pointed out.

"Aunt Peggy was impressed how you survived basic training before getting the serum," Sharon said. "She said you weren't strong, but you were determined and very smart. One time the drill sergeant challenged the men to get a flag from the top of a flagpole. The others tried to climb it, but couldn't. Then Steve unfastened the pole so it felt o the ground, then he picked up the flag and won the prize — a ride back to base in Aunt Peggy's jeep."

"Peg was the first woman to see value in skinny Steve Rogers," Steve said. 'And the last,' hung in the air unsaid.

"Good thing I first saw Steve Rogers through Aunt Peggy's eyes," Sharon said, lighting a smile in Steve's eyes. "She kept a photo of you, pre-serum Steve. She had it on every desk, or hanging on the wall in every office she had until the day she retired. When everybody else asked about Captain America, she told them about Steve Rogers and how bravery and stubbornness can take you far."

Steve ducked his head shyly.

"Yeah, brave, like throwing himself on a grenade," Bucky griped.

"A grenade!" Sam exclaimed.

"Oh, tell that story!" Steve exclaimed.

"Don't you know that story? You were there!" Sharon asked.

"Yeah, but Peggy never told me her version. I never got an answer to my question: Was it a test?"

"From what Dr. Erskine told her, he and Col. Phillips were arguing about whether you or some guy named Hodge would be the better choice."

Steve snorted. "If Dr. Erskine was right, that the serum magnified personality traits as well as physical prowess, then Hodge would have been another Red Skull. He was a bully at heart. I was the weakest and slowest at everything, but he still had to try to knock me off the climbing wall and kick down the barbed wire I was crawling under. I was no threat to him, but he had to take every shot he could at an easy target."

"Well, the grenade scotched Hodge's chances for good," Sharon said in satisfaction. "Col. Phillips said soldiers needed courage, and he threw the dummy grenade into the middle of the Super Soldier candidates. Everyone scattered and ducked for cover, except Steve. He threw himself on top of the grenade, which would have muffled the explosion and protected everyone else."

Bucky groaned. "I've never understood why you didn't just dive for cover like a sensible person, instead of trying to protect all those guys who had been bullying you."

"And Peggy," Steve said quietly. "When everyone scattered, Peggy was most exposed."

"Chivalry, thy name is Rogers," Natasha said.

"Should have known it had to do with a dame," Bucky groused.

Across the table, Natasha flicked out her foot and kicked the sergeant in the shin.

Sharon gave her a nod and said, "So, to answer your question, Steve. Yes, it was a test and Hodge failed."

"And you got picked as guinea pig," Natasha said.

"Yippee," Bucky said grumpily.

Wanda hadn't said much during lunch. She had been fascinated by Steve and Bucky's stories and the brotherly banter reminded her of Pietro. She kept her mouth shut so she didn't cry and spoil the party. She was paying attention, though. Whenever Bucky's spoon chased a stubborn bit of food around the plate, a small scarlet barrier would appear to hold the morsel steady, so the one-handed man could scoop it up. Bucky thanked her with a friendly shoulder nudge, which made her smile.

Bucky had just about wiped his overloaded plate clean. A couple of bites of prime rib were left, still tasty though they were getting cold.

"The beef is just as good as you said, your majesty," he said.

"Please call me T'Challa," the king said. "Good friends are hard to come by when you are king."

"I'm honored," Bucky said. In fact, he was humbled to think that the murderous Winter Soldier might be good enough for a king to call friend.

T'Challa seemed to read his mind. "Sgt. James Barnes is a war hero. We venerate warriors in Wakanda."

Bucky hunched his shoulders, still uncertain he deserved such acclaim. T'Challa wisely decided to change the subject.

"You said something about seeing prime rib only once before. Would you tell that story?"

"It was Christmas Day," Steve started. "We were in England. One of the RAF officers at our base had an uncle who raised beef cattle. He sent six well-aged sides of beef so everyone at the base could have a Christmas feast."

"Of course, the officers got the best of it," Bucky said. "The rest of us got beef stew, and I'm not complaining because it was the best beef stew I'd had apart from my mother's table. But I caught a glimpse of the rib roasts set up for the officer's mess. They were something to see. There were two rib roast set up like crowns, as pretty as the one on your table, T'Challa, and I was glad Steve was getting some because he was losing weight on army rations."

"I felt guilty about how much extra food I needed," Steve explained. "The colonel authorized me a full extra ration, but when we were in the field, well, I was always hungry."

"We all conspired to get him extra calories," Bucky said. "In camp, we'd bully the cooks into giving Steve the leftovers."

"Though that was one of the perks of the cooks' job," Steve put in.

"And all the guys would contribute a little bit of anything sent from home."

Steve chuckled. "I remember Benny in the 107th. He got a tin of cookies from home, made by his 8-year-old daughter. He was so proud. He opened the tin, and the mail service had been very rude to those cookies. All we could see was crumbs."

"Benny fished around in the crumbs and found a few big pieces and one, just one, whole cookie, which he offered to Steve."

"I couldn't take it," Steve said. "I told him his daughter made those cookies for him and he needed to eat them so he could honestly tell her how much he liked them."

"So Benny fished out all the pieces that could be called cookies, then Steve asked if he could have the crumbs," Bucky said.

"I ate them with a spoon, like cereal," Steve finished. "And they were good."

"So Benny's honor was satisfied, because he'd given food to Cap and he could honestly tell his kid the cookies were good," Bucky said.

"I wonder if he made it home to his family," Steve mused.

"He did," said Sharon, who had heard this story from her aunt. "He even wrote a book, 'I Knew Captain America.' It was not a financial success."

"Why not?" demanded Bucky, outraged on Steve and Benny's behalf.

"Because it didn't idealize Captain America. It told the truth about the war and what Steve Rogers was really like. Aunt Peggy had a copy. She thought it was the best book published about Cap. And, in more recent years, it has become well respected by honest researchers for its authenticity."

"It was just ahead of its time," Sam said.

"Anyway, back to the prime rib," Steve said. "I was only going to eat one helping, because I didn't want to seem greedy, but Monty — Lt. Falsworth — said there was more than enough and Peggy made a fuss about how thin I was getting because of poor rations out in the field."

"Everyone could see you'd lost weight, punk," Bucky said.

"So, between them, they stacked my plate with food. And then Peggy started talking to General Goodman about how I never got enough food. She said, 'You know how it is, being an athlete, general.' He'd been a champion athlete in his youth, in the days when runners trained on beef and beer because it made you strong."

"And the general had a soft spot for Steve, because he'd just rescued the general's son after his Mosquito was shot down."

"All the Commandos were on that rescue mission," Steve protested. "We brought back the whole squadron."

"But you're the one who carried Lt. Goodman on your back, because of his broken leg," Bucky answered. "Anyway, the general's aide had wrapped up a big slab of leftover steak …"

"All the officers were doing it," Steve interjected. "No one wanted to let that good meat go to waste."

"… so the general gave his package to Steve, saying the man in the field needed it more than a deskbound old coot like him. He was one of the best officers," Bucky said thoughtfully.

"And Peggy and Monty both wrapped up packages of their own," Steve said. "And I honestly couldn't eat another bite that day."

"So the next day, the Commandos had a wonderful feast of leftover prime rib. Best steak I ever had, up until today," Bucky said, giving T'Challa a nod.

* * *

"Everybody done eating?" Steve asked, getting nods and a couple of groans from Clint about being stuffed. "So, no one wants cake, then?" he asked slyly.

"Never that stuffed," Clint exclaimed.

The servers had moved the cake and pie to the table where the presents waited. There was a seating area with couches and comfy chairs and a coffee table piled with presents. Coffee, tea, milk and fruit punch were waiting at the dessert station.

"It's time for cake and presents," Sam said, rubbing his hands happily.

As everyone rose, Natasha said, "I've got to say, Rogers, this is a better celebration than the last Avengers party."

Clint groaned in recollection; Sam shook his head sadly and Steve nodded agreement.

"What happened last time?" Bucky asked.

"Rampaging robots crashed through the walls and tried to kill everyone," Natasha said dryly.

"Trouble magnets!" Bucky exclaimed triumphantly.

* * *

 _A/N: At least one more party chapter to come._


	41. Bucky's Birthday, Part 3

**Bucky's Birthday**

 **Part 3**

Before opening presents, Bucky went to the other table where the Wakandans were sitting.

"I feel like I'm ignoring half my guests," he told T'Challa. "My mother would be appalled."

The king smiled. "These are not guests, per se, they are the staff members in the palace and the medical center. They took care of your friends after they escaped from imprisonment. They took care of you while you were in the cryo chamber. They will be involved in your deprogramming and recovery, but they do not know you. Dr. Uviwe and I wished for the staff to see you as a person, not as rumor or a legend. Most have seen you only in cryogenic sleep and they only know the fearsome reputation of the Winter Soldier. Many remember how you were accused of killing my father and others in the Vienna bombing. We wanted them to see the real James Barnes."

As Bucky greeted each staff member, he was embarrassed to see tears in some eyes and smiles on most faces. T'Challa had made sure everyone was committed to his recovery.

One older woman put her hand on his cheek. "My son went to war and never came home, so I know how your mother must have felt," she told Bucky. "This is on her behalf." She threw her arms around him in a warm, motherly hug.

Bucky patted her back. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.

Steve was at his shoulder. "Thank her again," he instructed. "She's the one I taught the chicken and dumplings recipe to."

Bucky tightened his arms again. "It was perfect. It brought back so many wonderful memories. Ma would say thank you, too."

They clung together for a long moment, then Bucky turned to the next person in line.

He finished with Dr. Uviwe. "Almost too many emotions, am I right?" the doctor asked.

Bucky could only nod.

"But these are honest emotions — your emotions. I want you to remember this day, these friends, this happiness and, yes, even the sadness. Remember this when we fight the false Hydra programming."

"So, this was a test?" Bucky joked feebly.

The doctor smiled, proving the staff had been able to hear the conversation at the main table. "Yes, it was a test," he said kindly. "And you pass. Now go, eat your cake, open your presents. Relax and revive. Tomorrow we will begin working, but today is for celebrating. Happy birthday."

He handed Bucky a present wrapped in bright blue paper. Inside was a leather-bound journal with a pen attached by a ribbon.

"So you can start fresh," said the doctor who had read most of the notebooks that Natasha had retrieved from Berlin.

Bucky's fingers itched to start recording all the memories brought forth by the food and the conversation, but those memories felt more stable than the ones he'd scribbled down in Bucharest. They would still be accessible when he had time to write.

Right now he had gifts to open. And cake to eat.

"Who made the cake?" he asked, as he, Steve and T'Challa started toward the seating area, while the staff members began clearing the buffet table.

"I did, with my own two hands," Steve answered. "And the pies, too. I couldn't make all the food if I wanted to be with you when you woke, but I made the desserts last night."

"You sure you made the icing right?" Bucky asked anxiously. It had been a tricky recipe.

"Just the way your ma taught my ma," Steve reassured him.

"First you have to blow out the candles," Sam smirked, as he lit the three numeric candles: 1-0-0.

"Funny, Wilson," Bucky growled, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face.

The group sang "Happy birthday to you!" while Bucky extinguished the candles with one breath.

"What'd you wish for?" Clint asked.

"He can't tell you or it won't come true," Natasha scolded him (She'd heard it at so many of her niece's and nephew's parties.)

"After today, I don't have much else to wish for," Bucky answered. "And you all know what I want most of all, so that's not much of a guess."

To be free of Hydra's control once and for all is what they all wished for James Buchanan Barnes.

Sam cut slices of cake and Natasha served the pie to those who preferred that. Milk, coffee and tea were passed along the coffee table around the pile of presents.

Steve watched anxiously as Bucky took a bite of cake. "Just how I remembered it," he said blissfully. "How I didn't even remember, until I ate it and remembered."

Steve beamed and ate his slice, washing down the rich chocolate with milk. He reveled in his own memories as he ate.

Other Avengers were experiencing a new taste. Clint chewed his cake thoughtfully. "It's not as smooth and buttery as Laura's frosting," he said to Natasha. "But I like the little crunch from the sugar crystals."

"This isn't 'Chopped,' Barton," Sharon growled playfully.

They chatted happily as they ate, trading bites of pie and cake. Bucky had a slice of apple pie — just like Sarah Rogers used to make — and a second slice of cake for dessert dessert, before he say back, satisfied.

"I've been meaning to ask, what happened to the ant guy? He didn't get hurt, did he?" Bucky asked anxiously. By "hurt," everyone understood he meant "killed."

"Scott Lang. No, he's fine," Wanda hastened to answer. "He was a big help when we were in the Raft. He knew a lot about how things worked, because he'd been in prison before. And he helped keep our spirits up by clowning around." Her voice was fond.

"Tic Tac wanted to be here, but he had a previous commitment," Sam told Bucky with a grin. "His daughter had an important dance recital that he didn't dare miss. But he sent a message."

Sam set up a laptop on the table with the presents. Everyone crowded close to see the video. The recording came on with an extreme close-up of Scott's nostrils. He backed away quickly.

"Hey, Mr. Winter, I mean, Mr. Barnes. I'm sorry I can't be there to celebrate your birthday. Really. I mean, how cool would that be, partying with the Avengers," he enthused, making said Avengers chuckle. "And to celebrate your 100th birthday — anybody's 100th birthday! It's just awesome." Scott ran his hand through his hair. "But I promised my daughter faithfully that I would be at her dance recital. She's playing the Butterfly Queen, you see. It's the biggest part. And since I kinda missed her birthday last year, 'cause I was locked up in mid-ocean — I mean, saving the world was totally worthwhile, but Cassie is important, too." He took a deep breath to calm his babbling. "Anyway, big guy, because I can't be there, here's what you're missing by not being here."

Music began to play and then Scott's daughter appeared in a blue and purple dress with gauzy wings patterned in the same shades. She wore a golden crown, with antennas that bobbed as she danced. The dance was simple, steps to the left, sway left, steps back again, sway to the right. Bounce in the air.

"Nice pas de chat," Natasha commented. "She's doing very well for her age."

To Bucky's eyes, Cassie trotted around in a circle, gesturing with her arms as if tossing flower petals, then she finished with two pirouettes and a bow to the camera.

The Avengers applauded. "It looks even better with seven other girls," Scott commented off screen.

Cassie approached the camera. Her father joined her. "Happy birthday, Mr. Barnes!" they called. Then Scott's arm blocked the camera and the movie ended.

"That was cute," Sharon said.

"Oh, if you think that was cute, you should see Nathaniel in his wings," Wanda said.

"I might have pictures," Clint said casually, pulling out his cellphone. Sharon cooed over the chubby-cheeked, grinning Cupid with his lopsided wings.

"Adorable," she said.

"As long as we're on kid stuff, let me give you the presents my kids sent," Clint said.

He pulled a sheet of paper out of a purple folder and presented it. It said Happy 100 Birthday on top and was signed Lila, but the artwork made everyone laugh. It showed a bent man, with white hair and a long white beard. Two stick figures were lying at his feet, with X's for eyes and tongues hanging out and guns near their hands. The old man was hitting another stick figure gunman with his cane.

"Lila didn't quite understand that you don't look 100, but she did understand that you beat up bad guys, so…" Clint said. He pulled out a second hand-drawn card. "Now, my boy Cooper did understand that you're like Cap and don't show your age, but he was inspired by Lila's drawing, so …"

Cooper's drawing showed a man with his white beard and hair blowing back. He was driving a tricked out mobility cart with lightning bolts on the side and flames coming out the back. Lines a round the cart showed it was going really, really fast. The driver was just a stick figure with hair, but the cart was lovingly detailed.

"Cooper really likes cars," Natasha said.

Bucky had a lump in his throat. That Clint's kids wanted to draw him birthday gifts, even though he'd gotten their dad thrown in jail, was so kind.

Steve nudged his pal's shoulder.

"You tell them thanks for me," Bucky told Clint in a choked voice. "I love the pictures. I'm going to hang them in my room."

"They'll be very proud," Clint said honestly.

Sam judged Bucky needed a less emotional present, so he offered a small gift that turned out to be an iPod that he had loaded with music. "A variety of things, stuff Steve likes, stuff Steve thinks you'll like and stuff I like. All kinds of stuff from the 1930s to today."

"And I loaded this tablet with movies and TV shows," Sharon said. "Nothing too heavy. Lots of musicals and comedies and Westerns and science fiction, Steve said you liked science fiction."

Bucky cradled the devices, "This is too much. It must have cost a bundle."

Sharon shrugged. "Hydra's paying for it," she said wickedly. "We raided one of their hideouts, found a stash of cash. Tens of thousands of dollars in small bills."

"It's come in handy," Sam said. "Since we're mostly unemployed. And we figured they owed you."

Bucky matched Sharon's wicked grin. "That makes the gifts even better. Thank you."

Clint reached for a wrapped box, but Wanda wafted it into the air and set it in front of Bucky. It was as heavy as it looked, because it was full of books. Used paperbacks for the most part.

"Clint and I went to every library book sale and every used bookstore we could find to get a collection for you," Wanda said.

"We thought you'd like real paper books, but you can also download books on the tablet Sharon gave you," Clint said.

Bucky did like the books. The feel of paper, even the dog-eared corners brought back memories.

"There are a lot of Westerns, science fiction, fantasy and mysteries," Clint said. "We found a big stash of pulp classics at one library, so you have most of the Tarzan books and a bunch of other Burroughs books, and Doc Savage." The archer grinned slyly. "There's also a full run of Captain America vs. the Martians with his kid sidekick Bucky Barnes."

Steve groaned and covered his face.

"There's also really good stuff like Tolkien and Asimov," Wanda hurried to add. "And Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, Louis L'Amour and Zane Grey."

"They even found some Clarence Mulford," Steve said.

"Hopalong Cassidy was my favorite," Bucky said nostalgically.

"There's a mix of old stuff and new stuff," Clint said. "And some history books, science and technology history. And the 'Complete Guide to Popular Culture,' which Steve should also read."

"It would have come in handy when I was talking to Tony," Steve agreed.

Natasha handed Bucky a large garment box. It contained a blue jacket.

"Is this mine? From the war?"

"It's a reproduction," Natasha admitted. "I was going to steal the one out of the Smithsonian, but it was pretty battered and moths had gotten into the lining. I don't think they took very good care of the Howling Commandos' things until Cap came back," she said severely.

"You were really going to steal from the Smithsonian?" Sharon asked.

"Cap did it," Natasha replied.

"That was an emergency," Steve said severely. "And I gave it back."

"With extra bullet holes," Sam muttered.

Before Bucky could realize that he'd put those bullet holes in the uniform (and in Steve), the Super Soldier handed his gift to the birthday boy.

It turned to be a scrapbook, full of old photos and sketches. Leafing through, Bucky found drawings of himself and Steve at various ages, photos of the Barnes family, and Sarah Rogers with young Steve, drawings of their family homes, inside and out, and the Brooklyn of their childhood. In quick glimpses, Bucky saw a bully standing over a scrawny blond boy, a flying car tilting and about to fall, the Howling Commandos gathered around a campfire.

I made copies of as many photos I could find, then filled in the gaps with drawings," Steve explained.

"This is your life, James Buchanan Barnes," Clint intoned like an old-time radio announcer. ("This is Your Life" had been a radio and TV show, but after Barnes' time.)

Bucky didn't need to get the reference to understand the sentiment. He stopped at one drawing. It showed a man, two women, two boys and three little girls (one just a toddler) gathered around a table. The dark-haired boy was blowing out the candles on a cake, while the two older girls clapped.

"That's it, isn't it? My last birthday party."

"For some reason, it's been on my mind lately," Steve said with a quiet smile.

"And these are all your memories."

"Shared memories," Steve corrected. "We can go through them all, one by one, whenever you want."

"But not right now," Sam said. "I think there's one more present coming."

"Hard to top this," Bucky said, smoothing the blue leather cover of the scrapbook. "This my whole life reclaimed."

"And perhaps this can be the start of a new life," T'Challa said.

He offered a long, gold foil florist's box tied with a red ribbon.

"Roses, for me?" Bucky said in a falsetto, batting his eyes coyly. "You shouldn't have."

T'Challa chuckled. "No, this is something more useful than roses, though just as beautiful to my eyes," he said and opened the box.

Bucky caught his breath. He reached in and lifted out a left arm. It was flesh-colored, with articulation so fine you had to look closely to see the plates. The musculature matched Bucky's right arm.

"It's so lightweight," he marveled.

Steve ran his fingers over the "skin."

"Vibranium," he said knowledgeably.

Bucky took a deep breath. "You're right. It is beautiful, but I can't accept it." He set it back in the florist's box and closed it firmly.

"May I ask why?" T'Challa said.

"I don't want a new arm until I know my mind is my own," Bucky said firmly. "The fewer weapons available to me, the safer everyone else will be."

"I understand," T'Challa said. "We will keep this safe until you are ready for it."

"I think you're smart, Buckster," Clint said.

"Buckster?" Steve mouthed.

"Thanks, Clint," Bucky said, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"It only makes sense," Clint said with a smirk. "If you don't want to hurt anyone, you have to stay unarmed."

The Avengers booed and pelted the laughing Clint with wadded up napkins.

* * *

 _A/N: I think this is basically the end of the party. There will probably be at least one more chapter of fluff before we begin deprogramming. After all these years, I think Bucky deserves a little fluff._


	42. Bucky's After Party

_A/N: This was meant to be a brief flashback during the next story, but it kept getting longer so — shrug — I have another story. Someday, I promise I will proceed to something more than chitchat, but not today._

* * *

 **Bucky's After Party**

After Bucky opened his presents, the focus of attention shifted away from the birthday boy to more general conversation, which was a relief.

As they chatted, Bucky began to learn about Steve's new friends. Sam was the only one he'd spent any time with.

Among other things, he learned why he should be honored that Clint gave him cards from his children.

"I knew him for years before I found out he was married," Steve said.

Bucky learned that Steve and Sam had met while running in the morning at the National Mall. "On your left? Really?" Bucky chortled.

"He thinks it's funny," Sam grumbled.

"It's funny to me!" Steve protested.

"After you were the slowest of slowpokes all the time we were growing up?"

"That's exactly why it's funny," Steve insisted.

"You're lucky he doesn't call you names, like the kids called him, like 'Steve the Snail,'" Bucky told Sam.

"That wouldn't be funny," Steve said.

"Sam the Snail? I think it has a ring to it," Natasha said.

"I am the snail in this group," Wanda commented.

"Maybe, but you can fly without mechanical wings," Sam pointed out.

"That doesn't excuse her from being physically fit," Natasha said severely. "Though you were improving. You work hard," she admitted to Wanda.

"You're not her training officer any more, Nat," Clint pointed out.

"No, you are." Natasha narrowed her eyes at her old friend.

"We run every day," Wanda said hastily, to protect her substitute father. "I practice with my powers and hand-to-hand combat."

"And weapons, of course," Clint said.

"Of course," Natasha admitted.

"She's not half bad with a bow, even better with a handgun. And the way she flings a knife … phew!"

"I really have been working hard, Natasha," Wanda said earnestly.

"Nat thinks I never work hard enough, but she has inflated standards from her childhood in the Red Room boot camp," Clint told Bucky.

"If you were Red Room, how did you become SHIELD?" Bucky asked. It only just struck him as odd. That Natasha was Russian and SHIELD was not so strange, but if she'd been raised as a child to be a Russian agent …

So Clint and Natasha told him about her defecting from the Red Room, about how Clint was assigned to kill her, but made a different call.

"And then you helped Cap take down SHIELD. So you've made a habit of going rogue," Sam teased.

"She just has bad luck with employers," Clint said, wiping a mock tear from his eye.

Natasha slid a knife from her boot and began to study it. It was a joking threat, but Sam shook his head.

"None of that," he said, tipping his head toward Bucky.

"Sorry, Barnes," Natasha said, putting the knife away again.

"It doesn't bother me," Bucky said.

"But it's not appropriate party behavior," T'Challa said mildly.

Clint and Natasha's story made Bucky curious how everyone met.

"I guess Sharon and I had the most normal meeting," Steve said thoughtfully. "Even though it was all fake."

Sam and all the former SHIELD agents sniggered, chortled and guffawed, depending on the individual.

"I was Steve's next door neighbor," Sharon explained to those who hadn't heard the story. "But I was undercover. He thought I was a nurse named Kate."

"You were spying on him?" Bucky's eyes narrowed.

"It was a protection detail," Sharon said hastily.

Bucky's gaze grew even more suspicious. "Why would Captain America need protection?"

Sharon gave the others a wide-eyed "help me" look.

"Fury had suspicions about trouble within SHIELD," Natasha explained. "Sharon was basically backup for Steve."

Bucky relaxed. Backup he could understand. The punk always needed backup.

To reclaim the lighter mood, Sam began to tell about his first meeting with Scott Lang.

"All the time he was trouncing me, he kept apologizing and saying he was a big fan!"

Sam had given up trying to hide the truth of his downfall. (It didn't seem so humiliating any more, now that everyone had seen what the shrinking suit could do.) Instead, he told the story with verve. It was so funny that Bucky's sides ached from laughing. "I'm Ant-Man!" he repeated and convulsed in laughter again.

Sam preened at being able to make Bucky laugh.

"I think that's the only funny meeting story," Steve mused.

"I don't know, it was kind of funny when I met you and Bruce," Natasha said, and told the story of the aircraft carrier that began to fly.

"I'd like to see that," Bucky said wistfully, still a science fiction lover at heart.

"If you see it, trouble will be just around the corner," Steve warned.

"Or smashing you right in the face," Clint added, remembering the airborne evacuation of a flying city.

"So, who's next?" Bucky asked, still looking for origin stories.

"You know my story, because you were there," T'Challa said. "But I would be interested in learning about more of the Avengers' first meetings."

"I tried to kill them," Wanda said baldly.

"I wouldn't say 'kill.' You could have done worse," Steve objected. "You invaded our minds."

"Not mine," Clint said firmly. "Been there, done that, burned the T-shirt."

So with many interruptions and corrections, the Avengers told Bucky the full stories of Loki, the alien invasion and the Ultron incident (including the timely return of the original helicarrier).

"So, you were Hydra, too?" Bucky asked Wanda.

"I was. And I volunteered to be experimented on," Wanda said.

"A lot like I did," Steve said.

Wanda hung her head. "But you did it to protect your country. I did it out of a desire for revenge."

"You changed sides when it counted," Clint consoled her.

"There is a lot of that in this group," T'Challa commented. "Changing sides, I mean, not trying to kill each other."

Natasha laughed. "Oh, there's a lot of that, too. Half of us have tried to kill others in this group."

"Not Steve," Sharon said. "Even when the Winter Soldier and the Black Panther attacked him, he only fought defensively."

"You dislocated my shoulder," Bucky remembered the battle on the Insight helicarrier. "There were millions of lives at stake. You should have killed me!" He was outraged.

"I would rather die than kill you, Buck," Steve said simply. "You're my brother."

"But you would have," Bucky said shrewdly, as he remembered more of the battle on the helicarrier. "To save all those lives, you would have."

"If I'd had to, I would have," Steve admitted.

"Good," Bucky said decisively.

"But then I'd feel guilty for the rest of my life," Steve said.

"I don't want you to feel guilty, punk. But if you need to put me down, I want you to do it. I would rather die than serve Hydra again. Promise me."

"Bucky …"

"Promise," Bucky insisted.

"I promise," Steve said heavily.

"If he can't do it, one of the rest of us will," Natasha said. She was always the practical one.

"I think I can stop you without killing you," Wanda offered.

"Then stay well out of my reach," Bucky warned. "Because you just made yourself the Soldat's first target if everything goes sideways."

"Understood," Wanda said.

"I think we'd better practice stopping missiles thrown unexpectedly," Natasha said thoughtfully.

"Good idea," Bucky approved.

"This conversation is getting too serious for a birthday party," Sharon said to lighten things up.

"One more thing, then," Bucky said. "I want to apologize to all of you that I tried to kill when I was under Hydra's control."

"You know I forgive you, Buck," Steve said instantly.

"If you're talking about Berlin, I think we attacked you first," Sharon pointed out. She and T'Challa offered forgiveness and understanding.

Bucky looked at Sam. "You still holding a grudge?" he asked, with a humorous quirk of an eyebrow. He and Sam had had more time to get to know each other.

"You attacked me in Berlin and in D.C. You ripped off my wing and threw me off a helicarrier!" Sam said in an aggrieved voice. "But worst of all, you wrecked my car! I liked that car, and the insurance company said it didn't pay for acts of terrorism!"

"I'm not so sorry about attacking you," Bucky said thoughtfully. "But I am sorry about the wings and the car."

"Well, that's all right then," Sam accepted.

Clint shrugged. "Wanda and I have never been attacked by you, but you shot Natasha twice and choked her in Berlin. I have a hard time forgiving that."

"That's my grievance to forgive," Natasha reminded her partner, who nodded.

"It's not enough, but I apologize for trying to kill you," Bucky said humbly. "I have to say, you're very talented to survive three encounters with the Winter Soldier."

"I'm not so sure," Natasha said thoughtfully. "In Berlin your orders were to escape, to serve as a diversion to let Zemo get away. It wouldn't have served his purpose if you'd fought to the death there. He wanted you to do that against Stark in Siberia.

"It seems to me the only time you really tried to kill me was in D.C.," Natasha continued.

"Pierce gave me orders to kill you and Captain America," Bucky remembered. "Then, on the causeway, Rumlow saw two others in the car. He ordered me to dispose of the traitor Sitwell and the driver. He said the driver was the lowest priority." Bucky grinned suddenly. "If he'd known about the wings, he'd probably have told me to pull you out through the windshield," he told Sam.

"Suddenly the loss of a steering wheel doesn't seem so bad," Sam said, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow.

"I want to get back to the first time you shot me," Natasha told Bucky, who sobered instantly. "Do you remember?"

"I had a mission to kill a defector," Bucky said. "You pushed him behind you to protect him."

"And you shot him right through me," Natasha said. "But you didn't kill me, why?"

"That was not the mission," Bucky said, stone-faced, a hint of the Winter Soldier showing through.

"I think that was a bit of Bucky Barnes defiance," Natasha said. "It would have been more efficient to kill me, but you hadn't been ordered to. You hadn't been told to eliminate witnesses, so you didn't."

"I was punished for that," Bucky remembered. "They said I had a chance to eliminate the Black Widow and I should have taken it, but I just said that wasn't the mission. They were more careful with their instructions after that."

"Bucky Barnes never stopped fighting," Natasha said.

They toasted to that thought with cups of tea and coffee.

* * *

 _A/N: Maybe I'll actually get to the next day next week!_


	43. A Promising New Morning

_A/N: I know where I'm going with this, but I don't know how long it's going to take to get there. Basically, I'm just pointing the characters in the right direction and taking notes while they talk._

* * *

 **A Promising New Morning**

Bucky Barnes woke up feeling optimistic for the first time since he got his draft notice. The memories provoked by his birthday party had revived the almost forgotten young man he had been.

He knew a difficult, painful road lay ahead to eliminate the Hydra programming, but he now believed it could happen. And if it couldn't be eliminated, he believed it could be ameliorated enough to let him lead a mostly normal life.

Remembering his mother's teachings, he bent his head in prayer, thanking God for this chance, no matter the outcome.

The sun was just peeking over the mountains when he bounded out of bed and dressed in exercise clothes. He'd found a modest selection of clothes in the bedroom — another gift from his pal — when Steve had brought him to the suite he shared with Sam and Sharon.

One of the things Bucky had found out the day before was that Steve enjoyed a long run in the morning. That was new. As a kid, the punk had hardly been able to run at all and during the war they had only run when they were chasing someone or being chased.

But on this promising new morning, the freedom of a long run appealed to the man who had just come out of cryogenic suspension.

Bucky exuberantly pounded on Steve's bedroom door. "You up, punk?"

He'd hoped to catch Steve still abed, but the Super Soldier opened his door dressed in sweats, though his hair was still uncombed and his feet were bare.

"Quiet down, jerk," Steve said amiably. "Don't want to wake everyone else."

"Too late." Sam yawned from the doorway of his bedroom. He wore pajama bottoms and a loose T-shirt.

"That's right, Barnes," Sharon said from the final bedroom. She had a fluffy turquoise robe cinched tightly around her waist. She scratched her disheveled hair. "It's not your birthday any more. You'd better behave." She shook her finger at Bucky and gave him a stern look. With her hair dyed brown for disguise purposes, she looked so much like her aunt it took Bucky aback.

"Sorry, Carter, I'll behave," he promised sheepishly.

Secretly the others were all happy to see Bucky's continued good spirits.

"Want to go for a run before breakfast?" Bucky asked Steve.

The Super Soldier was already putting on his shoes. "Born ready, Barnes."

"How about you, Wilson?"

"With you two? Not a chance!" Sam scoffed. "I have no interest in humiliation before breakfast. I'll run with normal people."

"Do you know any normal people?" Steve joked, making Bucky guffaw in surprise.

A fist pounded on the wall.

"And now you've woken the neighbors," Sharon sighed.

"And one of those neighbors is the Black Widow," Sam said ominously.

Steve's cellphone chimed with a text. "Nat says to tell Barnes to keep it down," he reported.

"Ask her if she wants to run with the normal people or the supers," Sam suggested.

Steve laughed at the response. "She says, 'I don't know any normal people, but I'll run with Sam and Sharon to keep them in line'."

One of the new Avengers, Sam groaned. "It's like running with a drill sergeant," he complained to Sharon, who wondered aloud if Natasha had the room bugged.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Sam said darkly.

"Nat says she'll see you in 30," Steve reported another text.

"To get dressed?" he messaged back.

Steve's phone chimed a different tone and Steve answered the video call. Natasha was fully dressed, hair combed and all.

"No, to wake Clint up," she said wickedly. She raised her voice, "Wilson, I'd better not find out Steve's been letting you slack off." She hung up.

"Better not keep the lady waiting." Steve gave Sam a meaningful look.

"Yeah, she might bite your head off," Bucky said — and didn't sound like he was joking.

"Are you sure going for a run is a good idea, Barnes?" Sam said seriously.

Bucky was a little disappointed. He'd been wondering if this was pushing for too much freedom. If Sam thought it was dangerous to leave the palace, then perhaps Bucky should rethink his idea — but that wasn't what Sam meant at all.

"You're still off balance missing that arm," Sam pointed out. "I've seen plenty of wounded vets fall on their asses, because they're off balance and when they trip, they reach out with the missing arm."

Bucky studied the empty spot where his left arm should be.

"Keep your right arm tucked in, so you don't swing yourself off kilter," Sharon advised.

"We'll start slow," Steve suggested. "Give you time to get your rhythm. And I'll stay on that side, so I can catch you if you stumble." Steve laughed and winked at Sam. "On your left!" he told Bucky. Sam rolled his eyes.

Sam and Sharon retreated to their rooms to get dressed, while Steve and Bucky set off on the trail toward the imposing Black Panther statue.

They started slowly, while Bucky found his rhythm, then worked up speed until they were running easily.

Bucky's thoughts went back to the day before.

* * *

The group had talked for hours, making a dinner of leftover salads and sandwiches constructed from slices of beef and ham, with pie and cake for dessert, of course.

While they ate, T'Challa played the Christmas CD that the team had sent. Bucky was touched to hear it, but found it vaguely familiar. It's not that he consciously remembered, but he seemed to know what song was coming next. He said, "Hippopotamus" under his breath with a smile, just before the Barton kids started singing "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" and he grinned at Wanda just before her performance of "Santa Baby" began. He grabbed Steve in a one-armed hug just before "Amazing Grace" began.

"Thank you. Thank you all," Bucky said.

T'Challa also played the CD Tony had sent him, so Bucky could hear the difference, and, for good measure, he played the music from the Wakandan solstice festival. And then, up on request, he played the first CD all over again.

When "Amazing Grace" finished the second time, Bucky wiped tears away.

"I didn't remember that you could sing after the serum," Bucky told Steve.

"Never could when I was a kid," Steve agreed. "The asthma."

"What did they call you?"

"Wheezy Stevie," Steve said wryly.

Everyone laughed.

It was long dark when the partygoers finally went to their rooms to sleep. Bucky dreamed, all good dreams without a single nightmare. It was the best day he could remember.

Yeah, wheezy Stevie, Bucky recalled as he ran the Wakandan trail. Young Steve hadn't been able to sing or run in those days. Now Bucky could barely keep up with him.

* * *

The other Avengers got themselves sorted out and started about 20 minutes after the Super Soldiers.

Clint was a plucky runner once you got him started. Sam and Sharon had stamina; they'd been running with Steve for eight months. Natasha was lithe and fleet of foot. Wanda was the only one who wasn't much of a runner, but she tried gamely to keep up and apologized for slowing everyone down. When Natasha judged she'd genuinely pushed herself, she gave Wanda permission to use her powers to augment her speed.

"Clint's right. It's still training," she admitted, then punched Clint when he raised a fist in triumph at being right.

The group was a little more than half way to the statue, when they saw the soldiers coming back. Steve and Bucky had found T'Challa meditating at the statue. He joined them for the run back, pacing Barnes on his right side. The Avengers saw Barnes stumble over an uneven bit of pavement. The king put out a hand for a moment, just to steady the soldier, then resumed his stride.

Seeing the threesome approach at speed, Sam stopped, planted his back again a wall and crossed his arms. "No, on your left today," he vowed humorously.

Sharon, who also had to listen to Steve's teasing "on your left," immediately joined him in solidarity. Natasha and Clint shrugged and mimicked the two, while Wanda took the same pose, hovering overhead.

Natasha put on her Black Widow glower and Clint scowled ferociously. Sharon stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes (it was a gift).

Bucky waved and T'Challa nodded, but Steve laughed as the trio passed, which was the idea, because Steve didn't laugh nearly enough.

The Super Soldier turned, running backwards and pointed at Bucky. "On his left," he called to Sam.

As Steve turned forward again, Sharon yelled, "Pancakes and all is forgiven!"

Steve gave a thumbs-up without looking back. The five Avengers heard Bucky say hopefully, "Pancakes?" They knew pancakes were a sure thing now.

"He makes the best pancakes from scratch," Sharon told the others. "I left the ingredients out on the counter."

Sam bowed in respect. "You are an awesome quartermaster, Carter," he said. Then he started running after Steve and company. "Can't be late for pancakes!" The others galloped after. Natasha gestured for Wanda to fly ahead.

By the time Sam's group got back to the suite, Steve and friends had taken quick showers and begun cooking. Wanda was keeping an eye on bacon crisping in the oven. Steve was mixing a second batch of batter while Bucky flipped pancakes to add to a stack in a warming drawer. T'Challa — the king! — was cracking eggs into a big bowl and whisking them into a yellow froth.

"You've got ten minutes," Steve judged.

The newcomers scattered to their respective showers. Natasha and Clint darting into the suite next door. They all returned within the allotted ten minutes, hair damp and mouths watering.

The group ate scrambled eggs, bacon and pancakes with berry syrup. They joked throughout the meal, easy and comfortable with each other. Bucky enjoyed breakfast almost as much as he'd enjoyed his birthday party. The family feeling was so strong.

As 10 o'clock approached, they all trooped over to Dr. Uviwe's office for a conference on the procedure for Bucky's therapy. When they reached the door, Bucky looked at the crowd and asked if the others would wait while he and Steve saw the doctor alone.

"I don't mean to be ungrateful," he started, abashed.

Steve interrupted. "Buck, this is your medical treatment. What you say goes."

"Within reason," Natasha cautioned. They all nodded understanding, even Bucky. He had to trust the others when it came to security. If the Winter Soldier was triggered, it might take several people to bring him under control. Bucky did not want to hurt anyone, when they were all trying to help him.

"But if you want to talk to the doc alone, you can," Steve said firmly. "Want me to wait out here?"

"No, come, please?"

Bucky and Steve entered the conference room while the others lounged around the waiting room. The doctor stood to greet them, shaking each man's hand.

"I wanted to talk to you first, and explain where my head is," Bucky said seriously. "When I started remembering, I ran as far as I could and hid out in Romania. You've seen the notes I kept …" The doctor nodded. "… so you know about all the horrible memories that came back. A little girl in the marketplace would remind me of a child left crying in the blood of her father after I shot him. A Christmas tree would remind me of a holiday home burning to the ground with a slain family inside. For every good memory of Steve or his mother or my family, I had dozens of memories of murder and war. I had multiple nightmares every night. The only reason I didn't wake up all my neighbors screaming was that the Winter Soldier had been trained to be silent.

"When Steve found me in Romania, I felt depressed and defeated. I tried to escape out of habit, but I didn't really care if I was killed. I didn't care if they locked me up forever. I was tired. I was a murderer and I deserved any punishment they chose. And when we escaped, I chose my own punishment. I chose cryo, because I didn't want to be a danger to Steve and everyone else."

The doctor nodded understanding. "Has something changed?"

Bucky grinned. "I had a birthday party," he said. "People made me food and bought me presents. They cared … about me! Even though they hardly know me. Even though they know about the things I did. Even though knowing me caused them grief. I don't feel worthy of it, but I treasure their friendship. And it's made me feel amazing!

"The party and especially the food brought back so many good memories — all good! I can see my parents and my sisters so much more clearly. I can remember all the trouble Steve got me into as a kid."

"Hey!" Steve protested, elbowing Bucky in his undefended left side.

"Then last night, I had a dozen dreams and only one was bad. And it was about a mission during the war, not about the Soldier." He frowned thoughtfully. "I dream a lot more now than I remember dreaming before. Does that seem sensible?"

Uviwe nodded. "People need to dream. It is the mind's way of processing information, even if it doesn't always make sense to our waking mind. One current theory is that dreams reflect our emotions. You were under great stress in Romania, so you dreamed stressful dreams. Last night you were happy, so you dreamed happy dreams. Since you were deprived of dreaming in Hydra's control, your mind is making up for the lack now."

Bucky nodded thoughtfully.

"So, are you still feeling positive this morning?" the doctor asked.

Bucky's smile lit up the room. "This morning was almost better than the party yesterday. No one treated me like someone special. I was just the annoying roommate who woke everyone up too early, but made up for it by cooking pancakes. It was … It's been so long …" He ran out of words to express his feelings. But the others knew they were good feelings.

"Why didn't you want to say this in front of the others?" Steve asked.

"Kinda like birthday wishes. They don't come true if you say them out loud. If your friends heard what a mess I am, they would pity me. I wanted everyone to keep treating me like a normal person. Like a friend."

"Anything else?" Uviwe asked.

"Just …" Bucky raised his head and met the doctor's eyes proudly. "I just want you both to know that I am ready. Whatever happens, whether this works or not, I will accept the results. I've remembered my mother and her faith," Bucky told Steve. "We grew up in hard times, but I remember how she taught me to be grateful for whatever I had. Maybe this isn't going to work, but I am grateful that I have this chance, that everyone is willing to help me. Whatever happens," he said earnestly. "This is so much more than I expected to have last year. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate it."

Steve blinked back tears. Dr. Uviwe smiled kindly.

"It is my duty and my pleasure to do whatever I can to help you," the doctor said. "I am honored by your trust."

Bucky looked at Steve. "Anything I can do for you, anytime," Steve said. "You ain't heavy, you're my brother."

Bucky smiled at the paraphrased saying.

"Are you ready to begin?" Uviwe asked.

Bucky answered, "Yes."

* * *

 _A/N: Some of the info about dreaming is based on an online article from Scientific American._


	44. Summoning

**Summoning**

As the team took seats around a conference table, Bucky Barnes studied the man who would help him get Hydra out of his head.

Dr. Uviwe had chocolate brown skin and a fringe of close-cropped gray-speckled hair around a mostly bald head. He was rail thin, but had a wiry strength. His jaw was firm, but his eyes were kind. His voice was mellow with a faint Scottish accent that puzzled Bucky.

When everyone was ready, the doctor spoke.

"You remember our plan for deprogramming?" he asked Bucky Barnes, mostly to make sure all the other Avengers understood.

"Steve will say the trigger words at random, to try to desensitize me, until they are just words," the patient said obediently. "But I have an amendment. I think you ... we … need to start by reciting all the words and triggering the Soldier."

That caused a stir among the rogue Avengers gathered around the conference table. Steve made a smothered sound of pained protest. Bucky sent him a level gaze.

"You need to see it," Bucky said flatly. "You need to understand what it does." He smiled tightly at the doctor. "You need to measure it. You need a baseline. And I need to be reminded what it feels like, so I can tell if the deprogramming is making a difference."

"Then this needs to be done first," Sam said, leaning forward and listening intently.

"Better to do it when everyone is here, so you can take me down if necessary," Bucky said frankly.

"Will it be necessary?" Uviwe asked curiously.

"I don't think so," Bucky said. "When Steve says the words, he will be the Soldier's handler. The Soldier has always protected and obeyed his handler. Everybody should be safe enough, unless someone's pissed off Steve," he joked.

"Language," Natasha chided, winking at Steve.

Bucky chuckled. That had been one of the stories he'd heard at his birthday party.

"I don't like it, Buck," Steve admitted.

"I know, but I trust you more than anyone, more than I trust myself most days. I'm pretty sure you won't make me cluck like a chicken, like that vaudeville hypnotist tried to do to you."

Steve snorted. "He kept talking in my bad ear. I tried to tell him I couldn't even hear him."

"The Winter Soldier clucking like a chicken," Clint said thoughtfully. Then he shuddered. "No, I think that would give us nightmares."

"The whole idea gives me nightmares," Steve said glumly. "But I'll do it."

"How shall we proceed then?" Uviwe asked.

* * *

The group made their plans for the first therapy session, where they would trigger the Winter Soldier. Then Natasha politely requested that Bucky leave.

"We can't let him know all our secrets," Natasha insisted.

"She's right," Bucky said. "I'll leave." He stood, then looked at T'Challa awkwardly. "Where can I go?"

"Anywhere you like," the king assured him.

"I'll show you around," Sam offered, getting to his feet. "Steve can fill me in later on anything I miss. My duties are pretty straightforward. So, do you like birds? There's an aviary in the courtyard."

Sam remembered coming home from the desert, still grieving for his partner's death and desperate for a moment of beauty in his gray depression. His salvation had been a little girl in a bright pink dress running with a blue balloon through a park. She had been a reminder that good things still existed.

"I'd like that. I saw a beautiful hummingbird out the window when I was recovering from Siberia."

"They call them sunbirds in Africa," Sam said with the voice of experience. "But they look just as pretty as hummingbirds. Come on, I'll introduce you to Funeka who takes care of the birds. She knows everything."

After they left, Steve gave Natasha a reproachful look for driving Bucky away.

"We know that Barnes remembers a lot about the Winter Soldier. We don't know how much the Soldier can learn from Barnes," she told him.

He dipped his head in understanding.

"This is one of the things I wish to learn," Uviwe said. "If the two alternate personalities are sharing information and are aware of each other, that is an important step in integrating the personalities, in making James Buchanan Barnes whole again."

The others looked confused.

"I thought we were trying to get rid of the Winter Soldier," Clint said cautiously.

"No," Uviwe answered. "The Soldier is a part of James. We cannot rip him out; we must make him whole. I see this as a case of Dissociative Identity Disorder or DID — what was once called Multiple Personality Disorder. This case is not identical to DID, but I think it is similar enough that similar therapies will have beneficial results. Usually DID comes on in childhood as a response to abuse. But in this case, the Hydra torture was so severe it caused an alternate personality in a grown adult. The Soldier took on the punishment and protected the Bucky personality. He is still recognizably your old friend, is he not?" the doctor asked Steve.

"Yes. Definitely."

The Avengers still looked uncertain. The doctor shrugged.

"It is complicated," he agreed. "I will explain all this again when my patient is present. First we must deal with the trigger words, which can undo in an instant all the good any therapy can accomplish."

"May I ask one question?" Sharon said hesitantly. "What is the importance of him remembering?"

"The multiple personalities are not usually aware of each other. One doesn't remember what the other sees."

"'Who the hell is Bucky'?" Steve quoted softly.

He told Uviwe about fighting the Winter Soldier, knocking off his mask and recognizing his dead friend. "I said 'Bucky?' and he answered 'Who the hell is Bucky?'"

Steve got choked up at the memory. He had to pause for a moment before he could continue the story, "While Sam and I were looking for Bucky, we found a recording of what happened when Pierce talked to the Winter Soldier after our battle. The Soldier asked Pierce who the man on the bridge was. Pierce fed him a story about fighting me earlier, and Bucky answered, 'But I knew him.' So Pierce put him in that torture chair and electrified his brain." Steve's voice got hoarse again. "He knew me, Doc. He knew me."

Uviwe patted the Super Soldier on his shoulder. "So, one word from you, just one single word, was enough to trigger memories after 70 years of abuse." Uviwe scribbled a note. "He is a fighter, isn't he," the doctor said in admiration.

* * *

Natasha took charge of setting up the room where the Winter Soldier would be triggered. Because any loose object could be a weapon, she would have preferred to strip out everything, but that wasn't practical. The doctor needed to take notes, for one thing. And medical equipment was required.

"Also, we cannot stand up the whole time," Uviwe said firmly. "Barnes must be sitting down during the triggering because it is safer for him. And I will not have everyone else standing over him. That would be threatening."

"Never a good idea to threaten the Winter Soldier," Sharon agreed.

But Natasha insisted they could not use heavy furniture that could be weaponized.

"Didn't you teach me everything can be weaponized?" Wanda asked humorously.

"Yes," Natasha agreed. "But it hurts more if you get hit with a heavy metal chair than a lightweight plastic chair."

"I know where to find plastic furniture," T'Challa volunteered, surprising the others. "It would be nice to get some use out of it. It was not popular here."

* * *

It took the rest of the day for the room to be set up to Natasha's liking. The other Avengers took turns keeping Bucky company. They all ate dinner together, but the meal was mostly silent. Everyone was tense, thinking about what was to come the next day.

Bucky slept poorly and judged Steve had as well, when they shared a private breakfast. Sam and Sharon went to Natasha's suite to give the two old friends some privacy.

"It's gonna be all right," Bucky tried to reassure his pal. Bucky wasn't afraid. He didn't like the idea of bringing out the Winter Soldier, but he'd survived it before.

"It's gonna hurt you," Steve answered, his voice tired and teary. "I don't want to hurt you. You've been hurt enough."

"You need to hurt me to make me better," Bucky pointed out. "It's like pressing down on a wound to keep me from bleeding out. You need to hurt me to save me, Steve!" he said passionately.

Tears in his eyes, Steve grabbed his pal around his neck in a fierce hug. "I love you, jerk."

"I trust you, punk," Bucky replied, burying his face in Steve's shoulder. "I trust you to keep me from hurting anyone else. Please keep me from hurting anyone else. I would rather die than hurt you again."

"I can't make that promise," Steve said earnestly. "I would rather die than kill you."

"Don't." Bucky's voice choked in distress. "Don't let me hurt you. I won't forgive myself if I hurt you again or k…" Bucky couldn't force the word out.

Steve clutched his shoulder. "Neither of us wants that, so we'd better be very careful to not let it happen. We've gone past the end of the line, Bucky. Now we're on our way back. No one's gonna stop us."

Bucky accepted he wouldn't get that promise from Steve. He hoped Natasha would stick around. She could be relied on to do what was necessary.

* * *

Subdued but determined, the two old soldiers entered the redecorated treatment room where the others were waiting.

Bucky habitually scanned every room he entered, looking for danger, assessing targets, but this time his attention was transfixed by the chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room.

"What's that?"

"Your chair," Clint said.

"It's pink," Bucky said in a massive understatement.

"Yeah," Clint said proudly. He'd spray painted it fluorescent pink himself. "My daughter would love it."

Bucky approached it cautiously. He had to admit the plastic lawn chair in eye-blinding pink seemed as far from Hydra's infamous torture chair as possible.

"Where'd you get a plastic chair? Doesn't seem very Wakandan," he said.

"We didn't ask," Natasha said. "T'Challa said something about a failed import venture."

Bucky nodded. Then he realized T'Challa was missing. Likely the king had more important duties to attend to, but another team member was absent.

"Where's Sharon?" Bucky asked, as he looked around the room.

Steve sighed. "Buck, you said you don't want to know everything, because you don't want the Soldier to know. So stop asking questions. Sharon is busy and T'Challa has other duties to perform."

"Sorry," Bucky said sheepishly.

Dr. Uviwe entered accompanied by a hard-faced nurse who walked like a warrior. She gave Bucky a penetrating look, as she wheeled a complicated looking machine next to the chair. It was gleaming stainless steel and had needles and straps and tubes attached. Bucky shied away from it.

"What's that?" he asked in alarm, then hung his head. "Sorry," he told Steve.

"No, this you're allowed to ask about," Steve said kindly. He gestured at the doctor who explained that the medical equipment was an addition to the helmet and chest sensors Bucky was already used to.

"I will use it to draw blood each time you react to one of the words. It will let me see any changes in your blood chemistry," Uviwe said. "We want to collect as much information as possible, because we don't want to have to do this again."

"OK," Bucky said, but the hesitation was strong in his voice.

Uviwe smiled kindly. "You are allowed to say no," the doctor said. "I think the information would be helpful, but if this is too strong a reminder of Hydra, we can do without."

Bucky looked around at Steve and his friends. He stiffened his back. "No, it's fine," he said more surely, patting the pink chair.

"They'll have to strap your arm to the chair so you don't pull the needle out," Steve warned.

"Even better." Now Bucky was sure. "It's safer if you keep me strapped down the whole time."

Safer for everyone else he meant.

Though he agreed with the precautions, Bucky eyed the medical equipment nervously. "I have one more question," he blurted.

"Buck!" Steve said in exasperation.

"Why do you have a Scottish accent?" Bucky asked Uviwe.

The psychiatrist smiled. "I went to medical school in Scotland. I was there nearly ten years all told. When I returned my English was forever — T'Chaka said tainted, I say enhanced — by my time in Scotland."

Natasha chuckled. "One of the reasons his majesty picked Dr. Uviwe to be your psychiatrist is that he speaks Russian, so he can understand the Soldier. But he can't do the triggering. His Scottish accent is even more pronounced when he speaks Russian," she told Bucky.

Uviwe shrugged. "I learned in order to correspond with colleagues in Russia. I never expected to pass as a native Russian," the black man said dryly.

Wanda had noticed that Uviwe did not put "king" in front of "T'Chaka." "Were you and the late king close?" she asked.

"We were related. Second cousins, I believe is the correct term — on his mother's side. I was one of a whole troop of children who grew up in the palace at the same time —children vaguely related to the royal family or to government officials, the Dora Mijae in training and the King's Orphans, among others. But that is enough of my life history." He looked at Bucky. "Are you ready to begin?"

Bucky took a deep breath and nodded.

He donned the sensor helmet and the chest strap, then sat in the pink chair. He insisted that they strap his body to the chair as well. Natasha just happened to have bindings ready.

"It's not good to tie just his one arm. We don't want him to break it thrashing around," she told Steve when he gave her a look.

Bucky didn't flinch when the warrior-nurse stuck the needle in his vein and taped it down.

"The process is much like blood donation," Uviwe explained. "Every time Steven says a trigger word, I will activate the device and it will take just a sip of blood. We will have a sample after each word, so we can find any changes in your blood chemistry."

"I understand," Bucky said.

"Take your places, please," the doctor said.

Natasha and Clint took positions on plastic stools behind Bucky to either side. Wanda was in the far corner behind Natasha. Steve stood in front of Bucky. The doctor sat at a small table behind Steve with Sam behind Steve and to the right.

* * *

Though Bucky didn't know it, T'Challa and Sharon watched from a security room just across the hall, warriors and medical staff ready to pour into the room. Sharon's finger was on a button to flood the treatment room with anesthetic gas.

"Are we sure the gas will knock out Barnes?" T'Challa asked.

"We can't be sure," Sharon said. "But Steve let us test it on him and he dropped like a rock. Not a twitch."

"Then will it not be dangerous for the unenhanced humans in the room?" T'Challa asked.

"That's what they're for," Sharon said, gesturing at the medical crew, who carried antidotes, stimulants and oxygen. "Dr. Uviwe is their first priority, because of his age. Then anyone who seems in distress."

T'Challa nodded.

* * *

"Are you ready?" Steve asked Bucky.

Bucky gave a genuine smile. "Ready when you are, punk."

"Jerk," Steve said automatically. He took a deep breath and spoke in Russian: "Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one ..."

Steve spoke each word forcefully, with deliberation but without pausing. At the first word, Bucky flinched. As the words progressed, he closed his eyes, moaned, shaking his head. He shivered and pulled at the arm strapped to the chair. As Steve neared the end of the list, Bucky's shiver became an uncontrollable shudder. He thrashed violently, as if in a seizure, his mouth stretched in a rictus of horrific pain.

When Steve approached the last word, Bucky's head bent back and his body bowed. He stopped making sounds, but his whole body tensed in a silenced scream.

"Freight car," Steve finished.

Bucky stiffened, then his whole body went limp, sagging against the straps. The silence seemed deafening.

* * *

The trained agents came to their feet and automatically reached for their weapons, until Steve made a slashing motion with his hand, reminding them to not look threatening. Sam and Clint removed their hands from their weapons a little sheepishly. Natasha did it with a shrug. Wanda absorbed the red mist back into her hands and tucked them into her sleeves.

Dr. Uviwe peered curiously around Steve's protective bulk, while the others sat down again and waited patient, but alert, for Barnes to make the first move.

Barnes was bent over his knees. His long hair curtained his face.

"Soldat?" Steve said authoritatively.

With a shiver, Barnes looked up. Steve met the stony stare of the Winter Soldier.

"Ready to comply," the Soldier said in Russian.

* * *

 _A/N: I realized I hadn't described Uviwe, so I thought I ought to. His name means "you are heard" in Xhosa, according to one website, anyway._

 _Also, I want to make it clear that this is comic book psychiatry to go with the comic book science in Avengers. I don't mean to trivialize the difficulties of people who are dealing with DID or the horrific suffering they survived as children. I just see a parallel with Bucky's suffering and his two personalities._


	45. Meet the Winter Soldier

**Meet the Winter Soldier**

When Steve finished the list, the room fell silent. The trained agents automatically reached for their weapons, until Steve made a slashing motion with his hand, reminding them to not look threatening. Sam and Clint removed their hands from their weapons a little sheepishly. Natasha did it with a shrug. Wanda absorbed the red mist back into her hands and tucked them into her sleeves. They all sat back down, perching on the edge of their stools.

Dr. Uviwe peered curiously around Steve's protective bulk, while the others waited patient, but alert, for Barnes to make the first move.

Barnes was bent over his knees, but the shuddering stopped with Steve's last word. His long hair curtained his face.

"Soldat?" Steve said authoritatively.

With a shiver, Barnes looked up. Steve met the stony stare of the Winter Soldier.

"Ready to comply," the Soldier said in Russian.

"We will speak English,: Steve said.

"Affirmative," Barnes answered in that language.

"Do you know who I am?" Steve asked.

"Steven G. Rogers, formerly Captain America, now going by the code name Nomad," the Soldier recited.

Uviwe scribbled a note on his pad of paper. This was confirmation that the Soldier knew what Bucky Barnes knew. Bucky's eyes were drawn to the movement.

"Do you know who this is?" Steve said, indicating the doctor.

"Uviwe, Wakandan doctor of psychiatry, noncombatant."

Uviwe nodded and made another note. In the Soldier's world, people were divided into combatants and noncombatants. Not really a surprise.

"Who are you?" Steve asked Barnes, following Uviwe's script.

The Soldier hesitated. Did he have an identity? Would he be punished if he gave the wrong answer? But a small voice in the back of his head said this new handler would never hurt him.

"I am a weapon," the Soldier began. "I have had many names. I have been called the Asset, Zimniy Soldat, the Winter Soldier, the Fist of Hydra..." He could have gone on. He had been called many things, some of them just insults, during his long captivity, but something about "Fist of Hydra" seemed particularly wrong. He looked at Steve's chin, not quite daring to meet his eyes. "Captain America is opposed to Hydra. Captain America is my new handler, so I am no longer the Fist of Hydra."

"That is correct," Steve affirmed. "You no longer work for Hydra. Can you tell me who Bucky is?"

The Soldier remembered saying, "Who the hell is Bucky?" It was odd that he had spoken at all then, let alone so familiarly, but something about the bruised face of Captain America had demanded a reply. Now the Soldier knew the answer to the question.

"Bucky is a nickname for James Buchanan Barnes, former member of World War II combat unit designated The Howling Commandos. Barnes was a companion of Steve Rogers on the schoolyard and the battlefield."

Steve's eyebrows raised a trifle when he recognized the Smithsonian spiel.

"Do you know Bucky? Is he here?" Steve asked.

The Soldier hesitated again, trying to find the right words. He bent his head, then tilted it, looking through his long bangs to try to see what reply his new handler wanted.

"I want a complete report, Soldier," Steve said firmly, but kindly. "I will not punish you for answering my questions."

"Bucky is here," the Soldier finally said. He reached to tap the side of his head, but his arm was still attached to the medical equipment, so he bent his head in order to touch his forehead.

"Do you need to draw any more blood?" Steve asked Uviwe.

"No."

"Sam, would you unhook him, please?" Steve instructed the pararescue airman.

"Sure, Cap." Sam moved past Steve and bent over the needle. "You may feel a sting," he told the Soldier. "This is normal."

The Soldier did not respond. He was used to IVs and medical equipment, though he didn't like it. Removal was preferable.

Sam withdrew the needle, applied pressure with a cotton ball and a Band-aid, then, after getting a nod from Steve, he unstrapped the Soldier's arm and body from the chair. The Soldier immediately bent his arm and nodded, finding his movement unimpaired.

"Thank you," Steve told Sam.

As Sam passed Steve on his way back to his position, he put a comforting hand on the Steve's shoulder. Barnes launched from his chair, reaching for Sam's throat. Sam jumped backwards, hands raised peaceably.

The Avengers grabbed for weapons. Steve threw out his arm between the two men and commanded, "Stop!"

The Soldier tried to brake, slipped on the polished floor and skidded into Steve's outstretched arm, which knocked Barnes on his ass. Those who could see Barnes' face, caught a glimpse of terror, before his expression shut down. The Soldier bent his head, waiting for punishment. He had touched his handler.

"Everybody stand down," Steve said with quiet authority.

The Soldier dared a peek and saw Steve's hand reaching down for him. The Soldier flinched, but his handler waited patiently, hand outstretched. "Take my hand and I will help you up."

It was a command, though not given in a commanding voice. The Soldier took and hand and let Steve lever him up, then guide him back to a seat in the chair.

"Wilson was not attacking me. He is my friend, my ally," Steve amended, whcn the Soldier frowned at the odd word "friend." "Everyone here is an ally. Do you know who they are?"

The Soldier looked around, then nodded at Wanda, standing several paces out of reach behind him and behind Natasha and Clint. "Wanda Maximoff, former Avenger known as the Scarlet Witch. Enhanced human, extent of powers unknown, primary threat." He eyed the other woman in the room. "Natasha Romanoff, former SHIELD agent and Avenger, known for combat skills and duplicity." Natasha smirked. "Survived two assaults by the Winter Soldier. Secondary threat."

The Soldier's eyes flicked back and forth between Clint and Sam. "Tertiary threat is two. Samuel Wilson, former Air Force pararescue, former Avenger, known as the Falcon, now going by the code name Laughing Owl. Survived two assaults by the Winter Soldier, but combat status hindered by lack of Falcon combat suit. Wilson has become a companion of Rogers and Sharon Carter, code name Tracy, also known as Agent 13. She is not present in this room."

The Soldier looked directly at the camera lens, though it was concealed among the medical equipment. "Presumably, she is monitoring us from a remote location."

* * *

"He's among the best," Sharon told T'Challa in the security office.

* * *

"Does that bother you?" Steve asked the Winter Soldier.

"It is a wise precaution." The Soldier approved.

"Where do I rank?" Clint asked curiously.

"Clint Barton, former SHIELD agent and Avenger, survived assault by alien Loki, SHIELD and Hydra. Combat status hindered by lack of primary weapon, bow and arrows."

"When was I on Hydra's hit list?" Clint asked curiously. Steve nodded that the Soldier could answer.

"During your time under Loki's control, all Hydra forces within SHIELD were alerted to mobilize and the Winter Soldier was activated, but the battle was concluded before the Asset could be deployed."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "I guess even Hydra wanted to save the world from aliens."

"Wouldn't have been bad to have the Winter Soldier helping us fight the Chitauri," Clint commented.

"Not so helpful if his primary mission was to kill you," Natasha pointed out. She eyed the Soldier. "You know things about us that Bucky Barnes only learned yesterday. Do you remember what happened yesterday?"

After another glance at Steve for permission, the Soldier answered, "There was a party yesterday with much unguarded information sharing. I acquired valuable intelligence."

"He remembers, but cannot connect emotionally to the events," Uviwe judged.

The Soldier nodded agreement.

"I'm a little surprised he knows what a party is," Sam commented under his breath, but Natasha heard him.

"Parties are a good place to find targets," she said dryly. Clint nodded in agreement.

"The intelligence you acquired, did any of it arouse any emotions?" Uviwe asked.

The Soldier gave the now expected look at Steve, who nodded patiently and said, "Did you feel anything about anything?"

The Soldier said hesitantly, clearly expecting punishment, "There was chicken and dumplings and chocolate cake." The last two words were like a sigh. They made the others smile. "Eating them made me feel ... warm." The Soldier cocked his head, as if listening to a distant voice. "Bucky Barnes says that warm feeling is 'happiness.' The food made him, made me feel happy."

"That is marvelous progress," Uviwe said in encouragement. "Do you know what we're trying to do here?"

"Your mission is to destroy the Winter Soldier and free Bucky Barnes," the Soldier said fatalistically. "This is what my handler wants, so it must be done. I am ready to comply."

And just like that, the dreaded master assassin, the Fist of Hydra, became a figure of pity.

"You think we want you dead?" the psychiatrist asked.

"Bucky Barnes wants me gone. I understand. I am pain. It's good when pain is gone," the Soldier said stoically.

"But what do you want?" Uviwe asked.

The Soldier fought to express himself after so many years of being repressed. "I am. I do not want to cease to be."

"You will not," Uviwe reassured him. "I have seen other cases of two people in one mind, who have come together. They can become one without destroying each other. The fact that you remember what Bucky Barnes has seen, that he is aware in your mind right now, are good indications that we can bring the two of you together."

"Why would you help Zimniy Soldat, when you are charged with helping Bucky Barnes?" the Soldier asked suspiciously.

"I want you to understand. I am your therapist as much as Bucky Barnes'," Uviwe told the Soldier earnestly. "Do not be afraid to speak to me or to send a message through Barnes if you can."

The Soldier looked bewildered. "I am only a weapon. I have killed many, too many. I have … I have no value."

"Not true," Uviwe said forcefully. "You are not a murderer by nature. You are a protector. As Bucky Barnes protected young Steve Rogers, you protected Bucky Barnes when he was in the hands of Hydra. You took on the torture and the punishment; you did the dirty job of assassination, so Bucky didn't have to. You saved his sanity and so, you saved your own."

The Soldier didn't know what to say to that, and in the back of his mind, Bucky was unnaturally silent, as if he didn't know what to say, either.

"You are two, but you are also one," the doctor said. "You can both be helped."

"Leave no man behind," Sam said softly.

"We would like to talk to Bucky Barnes now. Can you let him come to the front?"

The Soldier seemed to be making a mental effort, but finally shook his head. "I don't know how. I can feel him watching, but I cannot reach him. His voice is faint. All I can hear is him saying that you will not punish me."

Steve sighed. "Then we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way." He flexed his fist and the Soldier nodded understanding, based on the stories told at the party. Steve put his left hand on the Soldier's shoulder kindly. "I just want you to understand, that this is not punishment. This is cognitive recalibration." Steve's right fist flashed forward and knocked the Soldier unconscious.

* * *

 _A/N: I apologize if anyone is getting tired of this storyline. If I'd realized it was going to stretch out, I'd have made it a separate story, but too late now. I've got two chapters written and will probably need at least two more to complete the set. Maybe more._


	46. Interlude

**Interlude**

The team met after Barnes had been taken to his room to recover.

"We learned a few things," Clint said. "He doesn't know about Doc's taser or he wouldn't have classified Doc as a noncombatant."

"He spotted the cameras, but he would expect surveillance," Natasha said thoughtfully. "He will know that we have reinforcements but I don't think he can know about the gas. Most gas wouldn't work on him."

Steve nodded. "Bucky wondered where Sharon was, so the Soldier will probably assume she's handling surveillance, possibly with T'Challa."

"Which would be true," the king agreed.

"I doubt he considers me much of a threat," Sharon said frankly. "He handled me pretty easily in Berlin."

"The Soldier did not seem a threat, except when Sam touched his handler," Uviwe pointed out.

Sam gave an exaggerated shudder at the memory.

"It is my professional opinion that the Soldier will obey his handler, especially when the handler is Steve, whom Bucky trusts. Also," Uviwe paused, reviewing his notes, then nodded. "Yes, I believe that the Soldier wants to get help for Bucky's sake, if not his own."

"You said he's a protector," Wanda said quietly, thinking of her twin brother.

"It's his nature," Steve agreed. "Always was."

* * *

Steve sat by Bucky's bedside, watching his friend while he slept. The faint bruise on Bucky's jaw from Steve's punch was already fading.

Steve's guilt hadn't faded at all.

Sam came in and tried to persuade Steve to get some lunch. "One of us can take a turn watching him."

"I want to be here when Bucky wakes up," Steve answered. "And if the Winter Soldier wakes up, I'm the only one he'll listen to."

Sam decided it wasn't worth arguing with Steve and his Enhanced stubbornness. The black man left, then returned a few minutes later carrying a tray. The aroma of a spicy Wakandan stew wafted to Steve, making his stomach growl loud enough to hear in the next room.

"I told you that you needed to eat," Sam said pointedly.

"Did you bring enough for everyone, Wilson?" Bucky groaned, his eyes still shut. He blinked them open and regarded the two men.

"Depends on who I'm talking to," Sam answered.

"James Buchanan Barnes, at your service," Bucky said, struggling to sit up with only one hand to brace him.

Steve helped him sit up and swing his feet down to the floor. Bucky rubbed his jaw and worked it from side to side. "Cognitive recalibration really pays off," he admitted.

"I'm glad I didn't hurt you," Steve said in relief.

Bucky waved the idea away as unimportant. "Share your lunch and I'll forgive you."

Sam decided the amount was insufficient for two super soldiers. "You start with that. I'll get more." But his way out of the room was blocked by a serving cart, several Avengers and the motherly woman who had hugged Bucky at his party.

"I have more right here," Cebisa announced. She judged the size of the room against the size of the crowd. "But perhaps we should eat at the table out here."

Bucky shooed everyone out, used the washroom quickly, then joined the others at the kitchen table. Cebisa had a tureen of something that definitely wasn't chicken and dumplings. Bucky smelled spice and something that he couldn't place, but seemed familiar.

"It smells good. It smells ... like Coney Island," he said, puzzled.

"It smells like the circus," Clint corrected, while the others chuckled. They had become familiar with the dish during their previous stay in Wakanda.

"It is chicken and groundnut stew," Cebisa said.

"Ground up nuts?"

"No, groundnuts. Nuts that grow underground," Cebisa answered.

"That doesn't sound as appetizing as it smells," Bucky said hesitantly. "You've had these groundnuts before, Steve?"

"Yes, and so have you," Steve answered. "They're peanuts, Buck."

And then Bucky understood why the odor reminded him of Coney Island, and, yes, the circus.

"Peanuts grow underground? I thought they came in paper bags," he joked.

"Preroasted and salted and everything," Sharon teased.

"The life story of peanuts is very interesting," Cebisa said. "My mother grows them. I will tell you while you eat, if you like?"

Cebisa set out a round loaf of crusty bread, a bowl of wilted greens and the stew made with chicken, peanuts and sweet potatoes. She also put out a small dish of a spice mixture with a tiny spoon.

"I made the stew more mild than I would for my own family, but you may sprinkle on this seasoning mix if you like it spicier," she said.

Steve and Wanda tasted theirs then added a sprinkling of spice. Sam and Clint added two. Natasha smirked at them and added three.

"This is not a contest," Sharon said in exasperation. She liked the flavor as it was. She didn't need to scorch her throat.

Bucky decided to follow her example. After so many years of tasteless food and IV feedings, he had to be cautious about too much spicy heat. Besides, the stew tasted amazing, a combination of flavors he'd never dreamed of but were delicious.

T'Challa knocked and entered. He smelled the stew and looked wistful. "May I join you?"

He was welcomed to the table. "I had tea with the English and French ambassadors. Delightful ladies. I think we could become friends. But the food was dainty and I am still hungry."

While they ate, Cebisa told about the odd lifestyle of peanuts, which flower above ground, then poke their fertilized buds into the dirt and grow their fruit underground.

The story made a nice distraction, allowing everyone to relax from the stress of meeting the Winter Soldier.

After they satisfied their appetites, Cebisa scooped out portions of pumpkin custard for dessert.

Uviwe knocked and poked his head in — which had become the standard practice for the Avengers and their friends. At the sight of the psychiatrist, the stress level in the room shot up. Bucky stiffened and Steve instantly laid down his spoon, appetite gone, though half his custard remained.

"This is why I go home to eat, to let you all relax without me," he said. "I just want a report on what we — what you — learned today," he tells Bucky. "Then I think we all deserve the rest of the day off. Just think, we met the dread Winter Soldier and no blood was shed," he said dramatically, getting everyone to laugh and relax.

Steve reached for his custard to finish it, but the dish was gone. Clint grinned around his spoon and made Groucho Marx eyebrows at his victim. Cebisa smacked Clint's hand with a spoon and served Steve another dishful.

The byplay relaxed Bucky even more. "OK, Doc, whenever you're ready."

The doctor poised his fingers over the keyboard of a laptop. "Now, tell me what you learned from your encounter with your alter ego," Uviwe encouraged. "Do you remember what transpired?"

"I do. I remember watching, but the Soldier was in control. He is aware that Sharon is monitoring the room. He doesn't know if T'Challa is with her. He thinks that he's not important enough for a king to care about — unless the king is the Soldier's target, of course." Bucky gave T'Challa a small smile. "I'm trying to not think about it, because I might disagree. I'm not, we're not, so important, but the king is compassionate."

"Did the Soldier make any escape plans?" Natasha asked.

"He thought of six ways to escape the room, all of which involve killing at least three of you," Bucky answered. "But that was just automatic training. He does not intend to attack, unless Steve orders him to, and, even then, he does not want to attack. He never 'wanted' to attack anyone. 'Wanting' is a foreign concept to him, but he half understands it through me. He recognizes that I see you all as allies and I very much do not want to attack you. In fact, I don't want to attack anyone."

"And yet he lunged at me," Sam pointed out. "Does that mean you don't love me, Barnes?" He pouted at Bucky.

"You touched the handler, Wilson. Never touch the handler. Even Bucky Barnes won't help you if you hurt Steve. Bucky will help end you." Bucky gave a mock ferocious growl that made Sam cower in exaggerated fear. Clint scooted his chair away from Sam ostentatiously.

"The Soldier isn't fond of people who steal his handler's food, either, Barton," Bucky warned.

"I will protect you, Clint," Wanda assured her pseudo father. "Bucky likes me."

"Yes," Bucky admitted. "And for that, the Soldier would kill you quickly and mercifully."

"Way to spoil the mood, Barnes," Sharon said.

Bucky shrugged. "You wanted to know what I learned from the Soldier. I learned that he is happy — as best as he understands happiness, because he is working for Steve now. At some level, he has always known that working for Hydra was wrong, but he couldn't remember why. Now he remembers Steve and knows this is where he, where we, belong."

Bucky considered what else he could say. "The Soldier didn't seem so terrible when I could see him and not just the results of his actions. He seemed sad. He was resigned to die, if that's what Steve, his handler, wanted. Your words gave him hope, doc. But he doesn't really know what to do with hope. He just … endures. I hope I can learn that from him and endure this deprogramming. There will be pain. The Soldier has warned me about that."

Uviwe nodded, made a few more notes, then turned off his tablet. "Now, children, go and play. You've earned the afternoon off."

* * *

After the psychiatrist left, Bucky asked, "What shall we do now that we've been told to play hooky?" Bucky asked.

"Remember what we wanted to do when we saw Tarzan movies?" Steve asked.

"Kiss Maureen O'Sullivan?"

"No." Steve waited, then prompted. "Remember how we tied a rope to the fire escape and swung on it."

"Making fierce yells that became real yells when the knot didn't hold," Bucky completed.

"Fortunately, you were only two feet off the ground when that happened," Steve said. "There's a park here where we can swing on ropes into a lake and swim under a waterfall."

"Think you can swing on a rope one-handed?" Clint challenged.

"Guess we'll find out." Bucky grinned.

* * *

Turned out, his enhanced strength allowed him to hold on one-handed, long enough to swing out over the water and let go with a yodeling yell that would have made Johnny Weissmuller proud.

The pool was beautiful, surrounded by flowering plants with birds flitting about that were obviously familiar with humans. Though a natural feature originally, the waterfall had been shaped, so you could stand beneath a shower of water in the center, or slide down two chutes on either side. Several ropes allowed a lot of swinging and diving into the water.

The Avengers challenged each other with acrobatic somersaults and twists. T'Challa was the best at the start, because he knew this pool well, but Natasha watched and learned and soon matched his style. Sam's aerial skills and Clint's circus training proved valuable in the game, too. Steve was too heavy to get a good launch from the ropes, but, when Wanda gave him a boost, he threw a pike triple somersault that drew applause.

Bucky couldn't manage twists or somersaults. His one arm threw him off, so he, Wanda and Sharon competed for goofiest looking dive, making faces and contorting their bodies in odd positions.

They wore themselves out, then just swam for a bit and finally pulled themselves out on a broad beach where they soaked up the Wakandan sun.

This had been even better than Bucky had imagined as a child. He felt contented, unworried about the list. Wait … list.

He sat up suddenly, remembering the aviary, too, where he'd helped feed an injured hornbill. "Hey! Do you guys have an actual list of activities to distract me?"

Steve was lying back, arm shading his eyes. His lips curved in a grin but he didn't even look at his pal.

"Maybe," he said slyly. "Got a problem with that?"

Bucky blinked. "Uh, no, I guess not. It's like my birthday never ends."

"It's like 70 years of birthdays," Wanda said.

"And we all get to enjoy them," Clint added.

And … Bucky didn't have a problem with that at all.

* * *

 _A/N: The first Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan movie came out when Bucky was 14 or 15 — old enough to consider kissing the girl but young enough to try swinging on a "vine," I think.  
I looked up African stews and found chicken and groundnuts. Apparently it's a common dish._

 _Second note: I posted first thing May 6 and the chapter attached but I see no alert and nothing has shown up on the archive list, so I will try again. I just saw Guardians 2. Awesome! Make sure to stay to the very end. There are 4 Easter egg scenes!_


	47. Investment in Torture

_A/N: I posted the previous chapter last Saturday on schedule, but fanfiction dot net did not update the date and did not send out alerts, so nobody saw it at first. I sent PMs to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter (just begging for reviews, really). Anyway, if the last you remember is Steve performing cognitive recalibration on the Winter Soldier, turn to the previous chapter and read Interlude before reading this one._

* * *

 **An Investment in Torture**

Steve had a list of Russian words on a tablet. He and Natasha would have preferred a pad of paper, but the electronic device allowed Dr. Uview and others to send Steve silent suggestions.

Steve worked through the list of innocuous words, trying to maintain his authoritative tone and cadence when he reached the first trigger word: "Longing."

Bucky flinched, but didn't look too distressed. He relaxed as Steve continued with other words, then flinched again when Steve said, "Rusted."

A note from Uviwe appeared in the corner of the screen. "Repeat Longing."

In a moment, Steve did just that, and they all saw Bucky flinch again.

"What is the difference between that and 'Rusted,'" the psychiatrist asked, saying "Rusted" in English.

Speaking in English, but saying the trigger words in Russian, Bucky answered, "'Longing' is like a slap, just to get my attention. 'Rusted' is like a punch, more painful but not debilitating."

Uviwe made a note on his tablet. "Thank you." He gestured at Steve to continue.

Steve again ran methodically through a list of words in a firm voice.

It was kind of soothing. Bucky relaxed again. Some of the words even made him smile, like "pink" and "balloons" and "chocolate cake."

Then, in the same tone, Steve said "Furnace."

Bucky screamed. He threw his arm over his face, screaming in Russian so hoarsely that Steve couldn't understand him. But Natasha did. She grabbed Uviwe's plastic pitcher of water and heaved the liquid in Bucky's face.

"What is it?" Steve demanded.

"He's saying 'fire!' and 'I'm burning!'" Natasha shouted back, over Bucky's moans.

Steve wrapped his arms around his distressed friend and Natasha combed her fingers through his wet hair, murmuring comforting words in Russian, while Steve said similar things in English. Wanda started forward to help, but Clint crowded her back. That was his duty — to protect the Soldier's primary target. Sam also stayed back, guarding the doctor.

Wanda sent her power toward the tormented man. She saw flames, felt heat burning Bucky's flesh. She tried to pull a cooling memory from his mind, rejecting anything to do with the Alps and settling on a pair of boys frolicking in the chilly ocean at Coney Island.

The sounds of anguish began to subside into panting sobs. "You're all right," Natasha said in English. "You're not burned. Look at your hands," she commanded.

Bucky pulled his hands away from his face and studied them. They were not covered with blisters as he had imagined them.

"It seemed so real," he said hoarsely.

"Pain is in the mind," the psychiatrist said. "The nerves send signals to the mind, but the mind interprets them as pain. You have the memory of the pain, so it became real again."

"A flashback," Sam said grimly. The counselor had seen more than his share of flashbacks, and had relived a few horrors himself.

"Yes," the psychiatrist said.

Bucky was shivering. Steve held him tighter. Wanda punched in a code and pressed her palm against a door, sliding it open to reveal a supply closet. She took a fuzzy blanket from a shelf and handed it to Steve, who wrapped it around Bucky.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's not real," he told himself. "It's just a memory."

"I'm sorry," Steve said, visibly distressed himself.

Bucky gave him a weak punch to the gut. "Not your fault. We knew it wouldn't be easy."

"You didn't scream before," Steve said.

"The Winter Soldier doesn't scream," Bucky said. "Bucky Barnes screamed when the Russians tortured him, that's what I'm remembering." He tilted his head, listening to an internal voice. "The Soldier says you should activate him, then say the words. He is meant to protect me from the pain."

"Maybe ..."

Bucky shook his head. "No, it has to be me. I have to ... reclaim my memories, even these horrible ones."

"I don't understand what the point of this is," Wanda said, wringing her hands. "When I was with Hydra, we suffered sometimes, but it was to train us to have more control or to be faster. Sometimes we were punished for our failures. But we could see the point. This seems to have no point."

Bucky got that expression again that said he was communicating with the Soldier. He repeated the insights the Soldier had learned over the many years when his captors talked in front of him as if he was furniture.

"The Russians thought torture was useful, but inefficient. They invested in torture at the beginning, until they only needed to say one word and the Soldier would come out to block the torture. They burned me over and over in different ways, until the word 'Furnace' meant pain, until the Winter Soldier could stand in stoic silence while his flesh blistered and charred."

Bucky bared his teeth in an unpleasant grin. "Pierce was inefficient. He didn't have the book. The Russians kept all the copies when they turned me over to Pierce."

Natasha snorted. "It didn't matter if they were both Hydra, the Russians were always suspicious of the Americans. They would never give up an advantage like that."

"Pierce couldn't turn me on and off with a few words. He had to put me in the chair and wipe me. If he'd ever sent me after the Russians, they could have turned me with ten words."

* * *

"I think we should stop for the day," the psychiatrist said.

"No!" Bucky protested. "We'll never get through the list if we stop after every setback."

"This was more than a setback!" Steve protested.

"I knew there was going to be pain," Bucky said mulishly. "I can handle it."

"Very well," Dr. Uviwe said. "Steven, please continue."

The all took their places. Despite his confident attitude, Bucky screwed his eyes shut, braced for pain.

Steve wished he could close his eyes, too, and not see the trigger words approaching on his list. He was sure his expression was going to telegraph the next trigger word, but Bucky wasn't looking. All the others tensed, however, when Steve tensed and said, "Benign."

Bucky shivered. He shifted awkwardly, but didn't scream, which was a relief. When he opened his eyes he looked ashamed. "That was ... pleasant," he said.

"Benign?" Steve blurted in Russian, then mentally kicked himself.

Bucky again shivered. "This was ... I think this was the reward for being a good Soldier," he said dryly. "I remember pats on the head and shoulder rubs." His eyes turned bleak. "They brought in an older, motherly woman to hug me and praise me and they found a big, blond, muscular man to call me pal and tell me good job." He couldn't meet Steve's eyes. "I always knew there was something not quite right, but I was so starved for a friendly touch," he explained.

"Buck. Is it OK if I touch you now?" Steve asked.

"Do you want to?" Bucky asked hopefully.

Steve engulfed him in a brotherly hug. "This is what it should feel like."

And that was what he'd been missing, Bucky realized. The whole unashamed Steveness of the hug. Bucky soaked in the feeling, memorizing it so he could tell false from true. Then he gently pushed his friend away.

"Let's keep going."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked.

"Quit stalling. Let's go," Bucky ordered, hurrying so he couldn't change his mind.

"Sir, yes sir!" Steve barked.

"Don't 'sir' me, I work for a living," Bucky grumbled, the litany of sergeants everywhere.

He closed his eyes, but didn't cram them shut, and Steve proceeded more confidently, now that they'd passed a word without screams. Still, because he guessed that the words grew more intense toward the end of the list, he backtracked to one they hadn't tried yet.

"Seventeen."

Bucky grunted. Without opening his eyes, he bared his teeth in a snarl. "Keep it up. I can do this all day," he growled.

"That's my line, Buck," Steve commented, taking a chance to pull his pal out of the flashback.

The patient blinked his eyes open. He shifted, as if he was stretching pained muscles.

"That was an old-fashioned beating," he said. "Fists and clubs. Just trying to break me down physically. No science involved, just the code word 'seventeen' as the signal for a bunch of men to attack me."

"Were there seventeen?" Clint asked curiously.

Bucky shook his head slowly. "Not that I remember. I was usually a little too busy to count, but more like eight or nine."

"I wonder why they chose the code word 'seventeen,' then," Clint mused, and triggered a memory.

* * *

"There were only eight men beating him. Why is the trigger word seventeen?" the young scientist asked the colonel.

"Because I said so," the colonel said in reproof. The scientist bowed submissively and the colonel relented slightly. "The man who became the Asset was born in '17. I thought of that when I wanted a number."

"So we know who he was?" the young man was excited.

"Some of us do," the colonel answered coldly.

The scientist bowed again. "I apologize for my transgressions, sir. I find the process of training the Asset most interesting."

The colonel grunted. "Just make sure he is prepared for his next mission." The military man left.

The scientist approached the Asset and studied him closely. The common rumor said he had been a wounded American soldier captured during the war.

"Poor bastard," the scientist said. "We were supposed to be allies with the Americans during the war."

The scientist brought a bland mixture of protein, vitamins, oatmeal and finely ground cabbage and ordered the Asset to eat. The Asset complied and waited for drinking water to follow. But the scientist said, "Benign" and patted the Asset's when the man relaxed. The Asset leaned into the kind touch.

"I have more food for you," the young man said. He set a plate before the Asset. It was a simple meal of bread and applesauce, but the bread was still warm with a thin coating of butter and the applesauce was fresh and touched with cinnamon. It was bland enough for the Asset's stomach, but more flavor than the abused man had tasted in years.

"Eat slowly," the young man instructed. "This is a reward for a job well done. Benign," he said, when the Asset took a bite of buttered bread. "Benign" he repeated, when the Asset spooned up applesauce. The scientist rubbed the Asset's back, when he finished. "Benign."

* * *

Bucky shook his head vigorously, then told the Avengers what he'd remembered.

"The colonel thought the young scientist was too soft, so he sent the Asset to kill him," Bucky said sadly. "The Soldier remembered the scientist's kindness. Though he couldn't disobey the order, he made the kill quick and clean, so the scientist never knew it was coming and never felt a moment of fear or pain. The Soldier bent over the young man, ostensibly to make sure he was dead, though he had no doubt. 'Benign' the Soldier whispered the only comforting word he knew, and patted the dead man's shoulder in apology."

"Geez, that's sad," Clint said.

"I can't believe I'm feeling so sorry for the Winter Soldier," Sam said.

"Me either," Bucky said, and shrugged.

"That is because the Winter Soldier is not a separate entity, but a part of Sgt. Barnes," Uviwe pointed out. "And Sgt. Barnes was very badly used."

"And by people who were supposed to be our allies!" Steve growled. "Damn Russians. Present company excepted," he added, when Natasha raised her eyebrow at him.

"I didn't say I disagreed," the defector told him.

"So, the Winter Soldier project wasn't Hydra to start with?" Wanda ventured.

"Apparently not," Natasha said.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Steve said darkly. "Hydra was everywhere. Hydra got into Project Rebirth to kill Dr. Erskine."

"Fury sent me a message," Clint said thoughtfully. "The new SHIELD agency found evidence that Hydra is some ancient cult. Schmidt's version was just one tentacle of that octopus."

"An octopus that is well and truly dead now," Natasha added. "All the heads have been cut and burned."

"I'll believe it when I don't see it," Steve muttered.

Bucky patted his shoulder. "Let's keep going," he said.

* * *

"Daybreak."

Bucky threw back his head and screamed and screamed and screamed. His back was arched and every muscle locked in agony. Uviwe's sensors went berserk.

"What is it?" Steve yelled at Wanda in a panic.

"I can't tell! All I can see is pain!" she yelled back, trying fruitlessly to penetrate the wall of agony in Bucky's mind.

The screaming ceased abruptly. Bucky collapsed limply into the chair. He would have fallen sideways, but Steve caught him. Eyes closed, Bucky panted as if he'd run for hours. Uviwe stepped closer to check his patient.

Bucky's eyes snapped open. His arm shot out and snapped the doctor's neck. The others grabbed for him to restrain him, but he threw them off. He was tackled to the ground, but battled fiercely.

* * *

The Avengers crowded back, watching Bucky thrash around on the floor, battling imaginary enemies with the metal arm he no longer had.

Uviwe clung to Sam's arm in shock. Though Bucky hadn't actually touched him, the savage expression on his face had been terrifying.

"What is it?" Steve pleaded from the floor where Bucky had shoved him.

"Wanda finally punched through the pain to see what Bucky saw.

"It's the chair!" she cried in horror. He's fighting, but there are too many. They're overwhelming him, beating and drugging him.

Bucky collapsed face down, sobbing into the fist that was bunched beneath his eyes.

"Show him the truth," Uviwe ordered. "Show him he is surrounded by friends."

Wanda could not project her own thoughts into an unwilling mind, but she could pull memories to the surface. She grabbed for Barnes' recent memories — laughter, chocolate cake, making pancakes and swimming in a jungle pool.

Bucky's sobbing slowed. He peeked around his fist to see his friends watching in worry. He spotted Steve, still sitting on the floor, and reached for him desperately. Steve caught him in a fierce hug.

"I know you," Bucky sobbed. "I still know you. They didn't wipe me. They didn't make me forget."

"Shh, it was just a memory. Nobody's touching you again. You're not going to forget" Then trying for a lighter tone, Steve continued, "And if you do, I'll just clock you a few times until you remember again."

Bucky chuckled weakly. "Cognitive recalibration," he agreed.

He reached his hand toward Uviwe. "I'm sorry!" he begged.

"Hush." The doctor stroked his patient's hair. "You did not attack me. You attacked another doctor, who undoubtedly deserved it. I will admit, seeing the Winter Soldier so close and so angry was a frightening event."

"That wasn't the Soldier," Bucky sighed. "That was pure Bucky Barnes, before he'd been subdued. The Soldier submitted to the chair, opened his mouth like a baby bird for the mouth guard and sat back to let them electrocute his — our — brain."

Bucky cocked his head, then nodded to himself. "He's right, though. Fighting never helped. There were always too many of them."

Bucky clung to Steve, panting.

"That's enough for today," Dr. Uviwe stated firmly.

"Yeah, not gonna fight you this time, doc," Bucky said. He needed two tries to stand, even with Steve's help. The two old friends staggered out of the room together.


	48. After Daybreak

**After Daybreak**

Steve helped his pal into his room.

Aching all over from muscle spasms and exhausted from mental strain, Bucky collapsed on his bed. He was asleep before he could worry about the nightmares he expected.

Steve gently removed Bucky's boots and unfolded a blanket over his friend. He quietly pulled the door shut behind him, then scrubbed his face with both hands.

"This is horrible," Steve said.

"I've seen worse," Natasha answered, quoting herself.

Her words got a faint smile from the captain. But didn't relieve his overall sadness. Wanda put a sympathetic hand on his arm.

"I'm all right," he said. "Everyone get some rest," he suggested. "It'll be dinner time soon."

By unspoken agreement, everyone scattered for alone time; everyone processing the day's events in his or her own way.

T'Challa clapped Steve on his back and went to perform some of the duties his advisers complained he was neglecting. Personally, T'Challa thought there was no higher purpose than helping his man he had wrongly pursued. He told his advisers that he was doing what his father would have done, which was true. But when time allowed, he returned to kingly duties — also as his father would have done.

Sam followed Bucky's example and lay down for a quick restoring nap, falling asleep with the ease of a soldier in the field.

Clint wished he could call his family, but the time difference was not in his favor. Instead he holed up in his room and pulled up a mindless sitcom on his tablet. He eased his cares laughing at the antics of "Bosom Buddies," Tom Hanks at his finest, as far as he was concerned.

Natasha cleaned her weapons, losing herself in the familiar actions.

Sharon planned for Barnes' next session, making notes of supplies that might be needed to help pull Bucky out of a flashback. No sense forcing Wanda to suffer Bucky's pain, if there was a simpler way to bring him to himself.

Wanda meditated, calming and centering herself so she could better help Bucky find himself when he got lost in memories.

Everyone relaxed, until Cebisa brought the evening meal.

* * *

Bucky was peacefully asleep, until something began tickling his face. He scrunched up his eyes, then opened them in confusion. A tiny wad of paper bounced off his chin. He saw the culprit in his doorway.

"Barton, what the hell?" he demanded.

A certain tension in the archer flowed away. "Weren't sure who was going to wake up," he confessed. "No one wanted to get close enough to poke you."

Bucky saw the others gathered behind Clint. He sat up, letting seven balls of paper roll off his chest onto the floor. "Not even Steve?" he asked skeptically.

Clint shrugged. "No one can find Steve," he said. "We didn't realize he'd left until Cebisa came with dinner."

Bucky groaned and rubbed his eyes. "He always hides away when he's upset," he said. "I walked the streets for hours trying to find him the day of his mother's funeral. Turned out he'd walked the five miles to the cemetery."

"He did the same after you ... fell, according to Aunt Peggy," Sharon volunteered. "He went to the pub where the Commandos formed, though it was a bombed out ruin by then. He managed to find a couple of intact bottles and was chugging them down. That's when he found out he couldn't get drunk any more."

"Damn," Bucky said. "And damn about the pub, too. I liked the place."

"It's been rebuilt just as it was when you were there," Sharon assured him. "It's called A Howlin' Good Time and is pretty much a shrine to your team."

"Damn," Bucky said again. "Any ideas where Steve would hide out?"

"I know where he went before," Sam volunteered.

"But there's no one there now," Sharon protested.

"All the better," Bucky said. "Can you show me?"

"You ought to know the way," Sam said dryly.

* * *

The furniture had been moved out of the unused cryo lab, but Steve had pulled in a bench from the corridor.

His vacant eyes were fixed on the chamber.

"I'm all right," he said without looking up. "I just needed some time to myself."

"We all did," Sharon said. She cuddled up to Steve on the bench and wrapped his right arm around her waist.

Sam sat on his other side, bumping shoulders with his friend. Bucky crouched in front of Steve.

"You don't have to say anything, Buck. I know it's necessary, but I don't like hurting you. I keep hearing your screams." Steve shuddered.

"Sorry I can't control myself better," Bucky said ruefully.

"Really not your fault, Barnes," Sam scolded. "Flashbacks are bad news."

Bucky made a face at him, but didn't disagree.

"Do you need a day off?" he asked Steve.

Steve's eyes were sad, but his expression was steadfast. "It's your treatment, Buck. Whatever you want goes."

Bucky hesitated to be so selfish, but he told the truth, "I want to get back to it tomorrow. I want to at least get through all the words once, before we take a day."

"I expect we'll really need a day off after that," Sam agreed.

"Then we continue tomorrow," Steve said. His mouth twisted ruefully. "I don't enjoy it, but I've done a lot of things I didn't enjoy in my life."

"I need this," Bucky begged for understanding.

Steve gave a faint but honest smile. "Then that's what you'll get," he promised, reaching out to ruffle his friend's shaggy hair.

Steve sighed and rested his cheek on the top of Sharon's hair. It was soothing. She smelled clean and wholesome, not overly perfumed like so many women these days. Though a lot of that was his overly acute sense of smell, he knew.

"Did I ever thank you for getting rid of that strawberry scented shampoo?" he asked.

She chuckled. "Yes, you did. But you didn't have to. You didn't ask me to dump it."

"No, but you knew it smelled bad to me, like a bowl of artificial fruit."

"I would do the same for any roommate with a sensitivity," Sharon assured him. "I gave the bottle to the teenage girl down the hall. She said her boyfriend loves it."

Steve pulled her close and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Hey, I gave up aftershave for you, super nose," Sam exclaimed.

Steve grabbed him around the neck and, despite his struggles, kissed the top of his head, too. "Ugh, prickly," Steve complained, because Sam's hair was just growing back from his shaved-head disguise.

Sam fought his way free of the super soldier and everyone laughed.

"Come on. Cebisa said she fixed meatloaf. It'll be getting cold," Bucky said, rising to his feet and offering a hand to Sharon. Sam took it instead, and pulled himself up. Steve gallantly helped Sharon up and the foursome turned their backs on the empty cryo chamber.

"Whose meatloaf is it, my mom's or yours?" Bucky asked.

"My own," Steve answered. "It's got carrots like your mom's and brown gravy like mine."

"You never liked carrots in meatloaf."

"I didn't like hunks of carrot," Steve corrected. "I grate these or chop them fine. I also put spinach in, along with the onions and ground meat."

"Hidden vegetables. Your mom would be proud."

"I really hope so," Steve answered with a sigh. "I'm pretty sure she never wanted me to be a soldier."

* * *

Unperturbed by the delay in serving, Cebisa quickly set up warming trays to keep the food from getting cold. "It will be ready when they are," she said.

Clint realized he hadn't seen Wanda, so he went through the connecting door to his suite and tapped on her bedroom door. When she called out, he entered to find the young woman lying on her bed with her arm over her eyes.

"Headache?" he asked.

"Yes. I was trying to meditate, but Bucky's screams echo in my mind."

Clint gave a sympathetic grimace, that she didn't see but sensed, and fetched her some pain pills and a glass of water. She took the medicine with thanks.

"I'm not sure it will help with pain that's in my mind, not my brain," she said, swallowing the pills. "My mind feels extra sensitive. Your thoughts are calm, but they seem very loud right now."

"Sorry."

Wanda glanced at the clock. "Is it time for dinner?" she asked.

"Soon. Cap wandered off and Sam, Sharon and Bucky went to find him."

Wanda nodded. "It pains him to say those words. It pains him to hurt his friend."

Clint didn't have to imagine it. He had made Natasha scream once, when he had to cauterize a wound with a hot knife. It had to be done, or she would have bled out — just as Bucky's mental wounds had to be burned away. But it wasn't pleasant to do to anyone, let alone your best friend.

"Come on, you'll feel better after you eat. None of us got much lunch," Clint said.

He offered a hand and pulled her to her feet.

"Everyone's back," the woman sensed, as they went through the connecting door.

Without having to ask, Clint settled Wanda at one end of the table and directed Steve and Bucky to the far side. He put a buffer of calmer minds between Wanda and the super soldiers. Always controlled Natasha didn't have to be told to take the seat next to Wanda.

"She got a headache?" Steve asked with sympathy and a little guilt.

Wanda winced at the guilty twinge and Steve focused on calm, soothing thoughts to help his friend.

Bucky looked back and forth, then got it.

"Do you need a day off?" Bucky asked Wanda kindly. "I asked Steve, because I knew he was upset, but I should have thought of you, too. You're experiencing my pain more directly than anyone else."

"But I also know you want to get it over with," Wanda said. "You want to conquer all the words before taking a break. I understand that. Don't worry about me. I feel oversensitive right now, but I will be fine tomorrow after a good night's sleep."

"I have an idea that might help," Sharon offered. "Now that we know the words trigger flashbacks, we can use other means to bring Bucky back to the present, instead of relying on Wanda diving into his memories."

Sam brightened and nodded. "Sure, strong scents or loud music, anything that shocks the senses helps someone suffering from a flashback focus on the here and now. Like when Natasha threw the cold water on Bucky."

Sam moved to sit beside Sharon so he could study her list and offer suggestions.

Cebisa brought the meatloaf and gravy, mashed potatoes and vegetables to the table. Everyone ate with a good appetite. Dessert was a sundae bar, with several flavors of ice cream, syrups and toppings.

"This was your idea, wasn't it Barton?" Natasha accused.

"I'm glad you recognize my genius, Romanoff," Clint answered.

* * *

Uviwe poked his nose in the door.

"You only come for dessert," Cebisa accused.

The doctor drew himself up in a dignified manner. "It is coincidence. I come after dinner to give my patient and his friends a chance to recuperate. But I come before bedtime, so Bucky can report on what he has learned and then enjoy his evening without that hovering over him."

"I, on the other hand, definitely come for dessert," T'Challa said, breezing past the doctor in the doorway. "You are more creative than my personal chef." He winked at Cebisa.

"I will not tell my husband you said that," she chided.

"Though he would agree," said her husband, T'Challa's personal chef. He had come with his wife to help set up the many goodies in the sundae bar. "These Americans have inspired you, my love." He winked at Clint and kissed his wife on the cheek as he passed, carrying a stack of bowls.

"Here, Doc," Bucky said to his psychiatrist. "Let me make you an American classic, a banana split." Bucky, who had passionately wanted to be a soda jerk when he was a kid, cut a banana in half arranged the slices in a bowl. "It would be prettier in a long dish, but it will taste just as good in a round bowl," Bucky said.

Uviwe's eyes widened as three scoops of ice cream joined the fruit, with different syrups on each of the scoops. Bucky topped it all with whipped cream, a sprinkling of chopped "groundnuts" and a real cherry on top. (No maraschino cherries had been available in the palace.)

The doctor admired the construction, but insisted he couldn't eat it all. Bucky shrugged. "Eat what you want and give the rest to Steve. He eats like a Hoover anyway. A vacuum cleaner," he explained when "Hoover" got a blank look.

His mouth full of his own banana split, Steve nodded.

"You should see Thor eat," Wanda said. She had only shared a few meals with the thunder god, but they had been memorable.

Steve swallowed. "You know who really packs it away …" He and Barton said, "Banner," at the same time Natasha said, "Bruce." The three original Avengers grinned at each other.

"And he looks so normal, too," Sam complained. He'd seen it once.

"Usually he eats sparingly," Natasha agreed. "But after a battle where the Hulk comes out …" She shook her head.

"He can eat more than Thor and me put together," Steve said. "And that's a lot of food."

Natasha looked sad, but smiled when Clint nudged her. "Just a little longer. Then you can track him down and make him pay," he said in a mock snarly voice.

"But in what currency will he pay?" Wanda asked, trying to sound risqué.

Everyone laughed.

With everyone so relaxed, Bucky found he didn't mind talking about what he remembered. The morning's torment was already yesterday's news. That boded well for his recovery, he thought.

He told everyone about the memories that the words had triggered.

"I thought I'd remembered most everything that hadn't actually been fried out of my brain," he said around a mouthful of ice cream coated bananas. But these are new. These are memories of Bucky Barnes fighting his torturers. As much as it hurts, I need to remember this. I need to remember that I did fight, even though I lost, I did fight."

"But you never remembered these memories before?" Uviwe asked. "People must have said those individual words at times, such as Daybreak and One."

"No, I think the Soldier protected me. Anytime my handlers said the words, he came out and stood between me and them. I need to reclaim these memories before I can banish their effects. I need to remember how hard I fought."

The psychiatrist nodded. "This seems to be very good progress. I am proud of you, my boy. Now I will leave you all to rest. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," Bucky said decisively. "I want to get through the rest of the words tomorrow."

"Then we'll all need a break," Steve said, repeating Sam's comment.

* * *

Sam escorted Uviwe to the door, explaining about Sharon's ideas for breaking flashbacks. The doctor said he agreed, and would get the necessary supplies.

When Uviwe left, Clint decided to introduce Bucky to videogames. He'd brought the kind of games he played with his kids — no graphic shooter games allowed.

The team started with Mario Kart. For someone who rarely played videogames, Steve was surprisingly good at Mario Kart, running his friends off the road with gleeful abandon.

"I didn't know you were so good at this, Steve," Natasha commented, as she skillfully dodged Steve's attack.

Bucky howled in fury, as Steve bumped his pal's racer off a cliff.

"He's good at this one, because he's always been a reckless driver," Bucky said, gesturing in aggravation. Wanda had to duck away from his waving arm. She'd been handling the buttons while the one-armed man operated the joystick.

"I know he's a crazy driver," Clint agreed. "Steve threw a motorcycle at Hydra goons — and he was riding the motorcycle at the time!"

Steve just grinned while Clint dramatized the battle against Strucker's troops.

"Barnes also has a way with motorcycles," T'Challa commented from a comfortable armchair. He told about Bucky stealing a motorcycle right out from under its rider.

Steve's racer narrowly beat Natasha's across the finish line with Clint trailing badly.

"Want to go again?" the archer asked.

"Seems like you really need two hands for this game," Steve said, diplomatically trying to soothe Bucky's exasperation. "Got any games where you wave those wands around?"

Clint did. He pulled out this bizarre game called Fruit Ninja, where you get points by slicing fruit in half as it falls past the screen. It was a peculiar idea, but everyone got into the energetic game, hacking at imaginary fruit on the big screen TV. At one point, Bucky and Sharon battled, slashing with their wands faster and faster, until Sharon's arm bumped Bucky's and they both overbalanced.

Steve tried to catch them and they all ended up on the floor, laughing like little kids.

Natasha grabbed her phone to snap a photo — which showed up the next morning as a large print, taped to the wall of the treatment room. It made everyone smile.

Heaven knew, they would need something to smile about as the day went on.

* * *

 _A/N: All I know about Mario Kart is what I've read in other fanfics and all I know about Fruit Ninja is what I saw on Mythbusters. If the description of the action doesn't fit your experience, assume it's a version of the game only available in the Marvel Universe.  
The title "After Daybreak" was my working title, because the scene took place after they dealt with the trigger word "Daybreak." But I thought it sounded cool, so I kept it._


	49. One to Nine

_A/N: I put the flashbacks in italics this time. Have a good Memorial Day, my US readers. Remembering the fallen is, ironically, what this story is all about._

* * *

 **One to Nine**

The grim expressions on Steve and Bucky's faces lightened into smiles when they entered the treatment room. Dead ahead, behind Uviwe's desk, was taped a large print of the previous night's activities. Steve and Bucky were sprawled on the floor with Sharon mostly in Steve's lap. One of Steve's arms was trapped beneath Bucky's shoulders, as he prevented his friend from banging his head on the floor. All three of them were laughing like loons.

Taped to the rest of the treatment room walls were other pictures from their time in Wakanda — Bucky blowing out birthday candles and beating his chest as he flew through the air above the waterfall pool, other Avengers stuffing their faces, mugging for the camera and generally enjoying themselves. You couldn't help but smile to see the display.

"This is great," Steve said, turning slowly to look at every photo.

"It brightens the place up," Natasha said with a smirk.

"And gives a visual focus to break out of flashbacks," Sam added practically. "You won't find anything like these pictures in your Hydra memories."

"You can say that again," Wanda laughed. "The only smiles Pietro and I saw at Hydra were evil smiles."

"These are joyous smiles," Uviwe commented happily.

"Joy. That's another thing that was in short supply around Hydra," Bucky said. He soaked in the feeling for a moment, then took his seat, while the others ranged themselves around the room. "Let's get started," Bucky said intrepidly.

* * *

Steve began to intone random words in Russian, until everyone relaxed into the rhythm. Dr. Uviwe signaled for Steve to proceed when ready. "One" seemed the most innocuous, so Steve said it.

Bucky's eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned, clutching at the arm that was missing. He babbled feverishly in English and Russian, his head lolling left and right. He tipped sideways and Steve caught him, laying him on the floor. He called Bucky's name, but the man did to respond. He just moaned pitifully.

"Shall I try to see what he's seeing?" Wanda asked.

"Let's try the countermeasures first," Natasha suggested. "Hit it!"

In the security room, Sharon slammed her hand on a button. Music blared over the speakers in the treatment room, a melodious cacophony that sounded like car horns honking.

"What the hell is that?" Bucky gasped, proving he was at least partly in the here and now.

"George Gershwin's 'American in Paris,'" Natasha answered.

"Why?"

"We wanted something loud and flashy, to bring you out of your flashback."

"Oh." Bucky still seemed a little out of it.

Steve approached, showing him a bottle in his hand. Then Steve twisted the top off. Braced for ammonia, Bucky instead smelled peppermint — just as sharp and bracing, but more pleasant.

"I was expecting smelling salts, like Old Mrs. Watkins," he told Steve.

"I can get sal volatile if you want, but this smells nicer," Steve answered.

"No, this is fine," Bucky said. He took a long sniff that made his nostrils tingle. He sneezed, which helped clear his head.

"You back with us, Barnes?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Can we kill the music?"

The music stopped.

"What was all that?" Bucky asked, gesturing vaguely at the ceiling and at the peppermint bottle.

"It's to counter flashbacks," Sam explained. "When you focus on the senses, you're focused on the present. Ice water, strong smells, loud music, strong tastes — we've got a lemon you can chew on if you want."

"I'd like some ice water, if you have it. I just had surgery six or seven times. I still feel feverish," Bucky said, climbing back into his chair, moving slowly and stiffly.

He drank deeply from the water, then finally spoke about what he experienced.

"That Soviet scientist — I never heard his name; everyone called him 'colonel' or 'sir' — he definitely wasn't Hydra. He cursed them often. He hated Schmidt. And he was jealous of the U.S. success at creating Captain America. He wanted to create his own super soldier for the glory of the Soviet people. But he planned to make a soldier who was part machine."

"A cyborg," Clint offered.

"There's a word for that?" Bucky was incredulous.

Clint shrugged. "It's short for cybernetic organism. And it's not science fiction. Artificial limbs are becoming more and more common."

"They even print them out of plastic," Sam offered.

"Print?"

Natasha stepped between Sam and Clint, wrapped her arms around their necks and planted her hands firmly over their mouths.

"We didn't mean to interrupt," she told Bucky and Uviwe politely. "We can talk about 3-D printing tonight," she said to Bucky. "Please continue."

"Thank you," Uviwe said, just as politely.

Natasha released her friends with a stern look. Sam made a "zip the lip" gesture and stepped away. Clint crossed his arms and frowned, but didn't object.

Bucky's lip twitched in a repressed smile. He knew all the byplay was meant to pull him back to the present. It did make him feel better.

"Before you go on, Buck, are you sure the colonel wasn't Hydra?" Steve asked.

"Pretty sure, the things he said. But he had a couple of assistants that smirked behind his back when he ranted about Hydra. It didn't mean anything to me then, but maybe they were Hydra."

Steve nodded. "Thanks. So you were talking about cyborgs."

"I didn't know I was talking about cyborgs, but, yeah. My left arm was ripped up and broken during the fall from the train. The bone was sticking out just above the elbow. I fell practically in the laps of a Russian scouting party. They stabilized the arm and took me to the colonel. I was in shock, pretty out of it, but I thought I was being rescued. The Russians were our allies. Turned out this was a rogue science group, just like Schmidt's rogue science group." Bucky rolled his eyes. "It was my fate to be captured by rogue science groups — Hydra, the SSR and the Winter Soldier project."

Steve protested that the SSR wasn't rogue, but couldn't deny that he'd gone rogue once or twice.

Bucky continued, "So, I was lying strapped down to an operating table, when the colonel came in wearing a doctor's gown. And he told me straight out what he had planned for me. He would amputate my arm and give me a new one, and I would have a glorious future as a servant of the Soviets.

"I told him I was an American citizen and an ally, but that didn't matter. Seems like he'd had volunteers to start with, but none of them survived his experiments. So then he started experimenting on kidnapped Austrian civilians — they were the enemy after all. But I wasn't.

* * *

" _Why me?" Bucky asked hoarsely. "The Russians and the Americans are on the same side!"_

 _The colonel sneered. "We have a common enemy, but we will never be on the same side with you decadent capitalists."_

" _I'm just a working man," Bucky countered. "Send me back to my unit."_

" _No, you intrigue me," the colonel said. "No one should survive a fall like that. And see, your lesser wounds are already healing." Heedless of the agony he caused, the colonel lifted Bucky's broken arm, so he could see the gashes that were already scabbing over. "But this break will never heal properly. I will give you a new arm — one perfect arm on your flawed carcass. And you will serve us with it."_

" _I will never serve you," Bucky swore._

" _Oh, you will," the scientist promised with a manic gleam in his eyes. "That I can assure you. I have broken many men. The one perfect arm is still an experiment, but your reeducation is certain."_

* * *

"And then he sawed my arm off, just above the break," Bucky said.

"While you were conscious?" Wanda sounded a little sick to contemplate it.

"While I was awake," Bucky confirmed. "They gave me something that dulled the pain a little, made me too woozy to fight, but I was awake for the whole thing and I felt it."

Bucky said the colonel attached his "one perfect arm," but an infection occurred, so he removed it and reworked it, then hacked off a little more of Bucky's arm and reattached the upgraded arm.

"Sometimes it didn't work at all. It just hung there, tearing at my flesh, until the colonel removed it and reinforced my spine and rib cage and shoulders. When it did work, the nerves burned all up and down the arm that wasn't there any more. One time the nerves spasmed over and over, so the 'one perfect arm' flopped like a dying fish," Bucky said. "Of course, none of this was the arm's fault. It was my imperfect body that couldn't adapt to perfection, according to the colonel," he said sourly.

"In between operations, while the colonel worked on the arm, they worked on training me with the beatings and burning and frying my brain, until I had no strength to resist. Until the Soldier developed to protect my sanity.

"And so it went, over and over. Each time I lost a little more of my arm, until I was here, with the amputation clear up to my shoulder, but finally, the arm worked, with minimal pain. I managed to kill a couple of scientists with it, before I was beaten into submission," Bucky said with satisfaction.

"So that's 'One,'" Natasha said, in English.

"Yes," Bucky answered heavily. "One perfect arm on my worthless body. One perfect weapon forged from flawed steel. One Winter Soldier to serve the Soviet cause. One." He pressed the cold glass to his forehead for a moment, then finished the water and handed the glass to Natasha to be put away. He sat up straight and leveled his gaze at Steve. "Next word, please."

* * *

Steve took a deep breath, and began running words. He and Uviwe were testing a thought. "Freight car" was the only two-word phrase among the triggers, so Steve tossed in one word or the other occasionally. "Freight train" and "freight depot" made Bucky flinch, but did not activate any flashbacks. "Dining car" and "parlor car" made him twitch, but no more.

Steve threw those in a few times, then, when Bucky was expecting "freight car," Steve said, "Nine."

* * *

 _Bucky was chained by his single arm to an iron stake pounded deep into the frozen ground of Siberia. He was forced to crouch, shivering, in the icy wind that blew across the barren tundra._

" _According to Dante, the Ninth Circle of Hell was a lake of ice reserved for traitors."_

 _The colonel spoke in Russian, which Sgt. Barnes was beginning to learn whether he wanted to or not. But, out of defiance, Bucky refused to answer in Russian._

" _I'm no traitor," Bucky growled through chattering teeth._

 _Wrapped in a lovely warm fur coat, the colonel gave Bucky a sharklike grin, "You will be," he promised. "You will be a traitor to all you now hold dear."_

 _At a nod from the colonel, guards threw buckets of icy water on the shivering man. Then the colonel walked away, leaving Bucky chained like a dog with loudspeakers blasting the Russian word "Nine," "Nine," "Nine" monotonously._

* * *

 _The scene changed — a later date, but the same place, the same chains. This time his hand and feet were protected, though his torso was bare. The colonel hadn't been pleased to see frostbite on his hands after the first freezing session. What use was a weapon without a trigger finger? Though Bucky had healed, the colonel was careful of his hand after that. He just doubled the punishment of the rest of Bucky's body._

" _Enjoying your day, traitor?" the colonel said scornfully._

" _Still not a traitor," Bucky answered, defiantly._

" _So loyal to a dead man," the colonel scoffed._

 _Bucky felt a chill that had nothing to do with the Siberian winter. "What do you mean?" he snarled._

 _The colonel tossed a couple of New York papers at the prisoner's feet. They were a few weeks old. They had been hard to come by in Siberia, but the time lag had just given the colonel more time to batter Bucky's spirit._

 _The first paper's headline screamed, "Captain America believed dead. Hero sacrifices himself, crashing plane in arctic to protect U.S. from Nazi superbombs."_

" _No, no!" Bucky sobbed, pawing at the second paper hoping for a retraction, but the other paper featured pages and pages of coverage of the memorial service for Captain America. There was even a mention of Bucky's own heroic death and a smaller monument set beside Cap's, so the two lifelong friends could share eternity together._

" _No," Bucky whispered._

" _He died alone, no friend to watch his back," the colonel said cruelly. "He didn't last a month after you left him. Maybe he wanted to die."_

" _No," Bucky repeated in anguish._

" _It's true that he died a hero. So did you, but you are both dead all the same. Stop waiting for rescue from a dead man," the colonel said almost kindly. "We are the only friends you have, so you'd better work harder at pleasing us."_

" _No, no! It can't be true," Bucky cried, tears freezing on his cheeks._

 _The colonel smiled and Bucky didn't understand why until later, when he realized he had answered in Russian. "Nyet, nyet!"_

* * *

Bucky curled shivering on the floor of the treatment room. "Nyet, nyet!" he cried in a broken voice. "Nyet, Steve!"

Sharon was blasting the KISS anthem, "I wanna rock and roll all night, and party every day," but the raucous sounds didn't penetrate the remembered beat of "Nine," "Nine" blaring in his ears. Wanda tried to pull a warm memory from Bucky's mind, but the distressful memory blocked all others.

Sam ran to the supply closet, slapping his palm on the scanner and keying in his personal entry code.

"No cold water this time," Clint said, stating the obvious just to drown out Bucky's pained cries.

Sam pulled a soft, fluffy blanket out of a warming drawer.

"Get a lemon, too," Natasha called.

The flier grabbed a wedge out of a bowl and ran back to drape the blanket over Bucky's shivering shoulders. Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky and pulled him close, calling his name.

"Bucky, I'm right here. You're in Wakanda, not Russia."

The warmth and the familiar voice pulled Bucky partway out of his flashback. Natasha took the lemon wedge and jammed it in Bucky's open mouth, pushing upon his jaw, so he'd bite down on the fruit. There are few flavors more "in your face" than raw lemon. Bucky's eyes opened wide and his gaze cleared. He bit down hard on the lemon, chewing to ground himself in the here and now.

"You look like a baby with a pacifier," Clint commented, receiving a one-finger salute in reply. Chuckling the archer went to the refrigerator to get another lemon wedge to replace the well-chewed one.

Bucky surrendered the old wedge, but didn't put the new one in his mouth.

"Where were you?" Dr. Uviwe asked kindly. "Somewhere cold, we take it."

"I was chained outdoors in the Siberian winter," Bucky replied. "It must have been the same winter I fell."

"Stays cold a long time in Siberia," Natasha said in the voice of experience.

"There were loudspeakers playing 'Nine,' 'Nine.' " He carefully said the words in English, but the others understood. "The colonel said the ninth circle of hell was reserved for traitors. And I was a traitor to Steve, because I left him to crash in the arctic. He said I deserved to freeze like Steve had frozen."

Bucky shivered at the memory and grabbed Steve's shirt to ground himself.

Still sitting on the floor, Steve pulled him close. "You never failed me," Steve said in a choked voice. "I failed you, by not catching you before you fell."

"Did you... Did you crash that plane on purpose? Did you want to die, because you felt guilty," Bucky asked.

"No," Steve said firmly. Everyone in the room gave him a speculative look and he rolled his eyes at all of them. "Look, I've seen that theory in books. Lots of people seem to think I was suicidal. Some think it's because Bucky and I were lovers and I couldn't live without him."

Bucky made a face. "That serum made you big, but it didn't make your breasts big enough for THAT!" he said, making everyone chuckle.

"People are bound to talk when they see us snuggling like this," Steve joked. Then he continued more seriously. "Listen, Peggy had to listen to me die. Howard felt so guilty he looked for my remains all his life. I would not have done that to my friends, no matter how much grief and guilt and anger I carried," Steve said passionately. "Crashing the plane was my only choice. People don't take into account how fast the Red Skull's plane flew. We were already approaching Canada and we hadn't been in the air an hour. I didn't know anything about flying planes — believe me, it was the first thing I asked SHIELD to teach me! I didn't have time to figure out how to land. And the plane had an automatic pilot. If I hadn't forced it down, it would have continued on to its destination and dropped its bombs. I couldn't bail out and I couldn't land it. I had to crash it in the unpopulated area. I hoped I could escape the plane and get to safety." He shrugged. "But I couldn't."

"And now you're both here, alive if not wholly well, in the 21st century," Wanda pointed out.

"Two boys from Brooklyn together again," Clint added.

Uviwe let Bucky recuperate for a moment, then probed for more information.

"This seemed to be early in your 'reeducation'," Uviwe said, saying 'reeducation' with immense sarcasm. "The code words are not in chronological order?"

"All the abuse was repeated," Bucky explained. "Anytime someone approached me, I didn't know if I would get a punch to the face or a pat on the head. I didn't know if they'd drag me to the freezer or to the furnace. It all happened over and over again. I don't know why I flashback to certain occasions."

"This one sounds as if it was particularly traumatic," Uviwe said sympathetically.

"Because I found out Steve was dead," Bucky agreed, his voice catching at the memory.

Steve hugged him again. "Still not dead," he reminded his pal. "We still haven't gotten to the end of the line."


	50. Homecoming and Freight Car

**Homecoming and Freight Car**

"The Ninth Circle of Hell. Sounds like the colonel was a real student of the classics," Clint said sarcastically.

Bucky snorted scornfully. "He just liked to make speeches. Maybe it helped him and his lackeys remember the trigger words. I think he was just taunting me most of the time. One, Nine, Seventeen — that's the year I was born! Homecoming, Longing, Daybreak, Benign, Rusted — they all relate to what I was becoming or what I would never have again. And then there was 'Freight car.' My downfall, literally!" Bucky shook his head. "He was just a sick, sadistic bastard."

"It's almost a prerequisite for heading a rogue science division," Natasha said, with the voice of experience. "Look at the Red Skull."

"I've got to admit, Col. Phillips could be a tyrant sometimes," Steve joked weakly.

"All servicemen feel like that about their officers sometimes," Sam agreed.

"Even their captains," Bucky said with a sly look at his childhood friend. Steve elbowed Bucky, who chuckled, then turned serious.

"Steve, I need you to say 'Nine' again," Bucky said. "There was something I almost remembered. Something about cryo."

"If 'Nine' had to do with freezing, then it makes sense they would use the trigger word when they put you in cryo," Clint said thoughtfully.

Bucky nodded. "I'm sure they did that, but there was something else. Something important."

Steve was doubtful. Natasha was getting impatient. All this talk of Russian torture was bringing back bad memories of her own. Even Clint bumping her shoulder with his couldn't soothe her nerves. When Steve hesitated to speak, Natasha barked "Nine" in Russian.

Steve glared at her, but maybe the different voice helped. Or maybe the impact of the trigger word was diluted by repetition, as Uviwe hoped. In any case, Bucky's eyes went blank for a moment and a snarl crossed his face, but he didn't lose himself in the past.

He groped for the peppermint bottle. Steve placed it in his hand. Bucky flipped open the top and inhaled deeply.

When his eyes focused on Steve's, Bucky answered the unspoken question with a growl, "Zola."

Steve's lip lifted in a matching snarl.

"Wait, are you saying you saw Arnim Zola when you were being … conditioned?" Sam asked. Bucky nodded. "How's that possible? I know it wasn't anytime soon after you fell, because Zola was captured on the train that you fell from and he was imprisoned until the war ended, at least." Spending so much time with Steve trying to find Bucky, Sam knew their history almost as well as they did.

"Zola was imprisoned well into the 1950s," Natasha said. When everyone looked at her, she shrugged, "I research people who try to kill me, even if they're deceased."

"Because it doesn't always stick," Clint said wisely, looking at the two soldiers who had "died" during World War II.

Natasha ignored her longtime partner's interjection and continued, "Zola was tried for war crimes, but acquitted."

"What?" Bucky and Steve protested. "He performed experiments on prisoners," Steve said angrily.

"There were no living witnesses," Natasha said gently. "The survivors of Azzano, including the Howling Commandos, testified, but all they knew was hearsay from you and Barnes. Zola claimed he worked for Schmidt because he was afraid for his life, because Schmidt was a madman. There was no lack of witnesses to prove Schmidt was insane. And Zola pointed out that he cooperated fully with the Allies as soon as he was 'liberated'."

"So he got off," Bucky growled.

"Ten years in prison in the U.S.," Natasha offered as meager consolation.

"Then Operation Paperclip," Steve growled, just as angrily as Bucky had. "The SSR hired him and he contaminated SHIELD from the beginning."

"I saw him," Bucky insisted. "He helped created the Winter Soldier."

He took a deep breath and started from the beginning. "The colonel began to experiment with cryo. It was so much more convenient than standing around in the Siberian winter when he wanted to freeze me. First he just let me freeze in a meat locker. Then he built the first cryo chamber and conducted all sorts of experiments on what would preserve me. I think he killed me at least eight times, but managed to revive me," Bucky said thoughtfully. "By that point, I was so far gone I couldn't even pray to not wake up. I was the Soldier more often than I was Bucky, and when I was Bucky I was too confused to struggle much, though sometimes I would remember myself a bit and protest. Anytime that happened, the colonel would put me in cryo or in the chair."

"None of the other torture?" Uviwe asked.

"Not by that time. My mind and my spirit were broken by then and the Russians were training me to be their Soldat. They didn't want to damage me by burning any more. The metal arm was working and I was allowed, even expected to fight back if attacked, so beatings became combat training. The words were firmly planted as trigger words and didn't need to be reinforced. I was almost exactly what the colonel had been working for, the perfect Soviet Soldat." Bucky gave a sour grin. "Of course, the war was over by then."

"You held out a long time," Clint said in admiration.

"If the war was over, what was the colonel's plan for you?" Wanda asked.

"Just what I became," Bucky answered. "A brainwashed, Cold War assassin. But never under the colonel and never, or not primarily, for the Soviets."

"For Hydra," Steve said heavily.

"And that's where Zola comes in?" Sam asked.

* * *

 _The colonel spoke freely in front of the Soldier. He was little more than furniture by that point. Mere glimmers of rebellion were easily quashed by cryo or the chair. The colonel was working on papers at his desk while the Soldat stood guard._

 _An aide knocked on the door. "Sir, the Kremlin wishes to see you," the young man said respectfully. "They wish to discuss the Winter Soldier program and other projects."_

" _Very well," the colonel said. "Put him in cryo until I get back."_

 _The colonel ordered the Soldat to get in the cryo chamber. The door shut and the chill began to grow._

* * *

"The last thing I saw before I passed out was the colonel's impassive face. I never saw him again," Bucky said.

"What happened when you woke up?" Uviwe asked.

* * *

 _A stranger leaned over the Soldat when he awoke. He was firmly fastened down to the table. The Soldat blinked at the round, bespectacled face and frowned._

" _I know you," he said hesitantly._

" _I am pleased to see you again after so many years, Sgt. Barnes," the scientist said._

 _The Soldat frowned even more. The situation and the name Barnes brought back a faint memory. "You are Zola."_

" _Very good," Zola praised. "But not what we want at all. The colonel's notes were accurate. You still have the capacity to defy your training. He wasn't sure what to do about it, but I have had several years to prepare since I learned of your survival. I will change your mind for you." He smiled at a joke only he understood. "And soon you will achieve your destiny."_

" _The perfect Soviet Soldier," the Soldat answered, as the colonel had taught him._

" _Oh no," Zola corrected him in English. "You will become the Fist of Hydra."_

* * *

"And then he said the trigger words and something happened, but I don't remember what," Bucky said in frustration.

Uviwe patted him on his shoulder. "I think we need a break. Just a short one for lunch," he promised Bucky. "You didn't eat lunch at all yesterday. That's not healthy."

"It's not like I'm doing much," Bucky protested without much heat.

"This sort of mental trauma causes a drain on your body, just as if you were running a marathon. Please eat, rest for an hour, then we'll resume," the doctor said. He would prefer to break until the next day, but he respected his patient's need to push through.

* * *

T'Challa called ahead from the security room. When the team reached their quarters, they were greeted by the smell of hotdogs grilling. Cebisa knew what they needed.

Bucky and Steve brightened up immediately. Hotdogs were the fun food of their childhoods. They were associated with memories of baseball games and summer picnics.

These hotdogs were really handmade sausages with homemade rolls, so the taste wasn't precisely as remembered, but the wealth of condiments made them homier.

When they were almost finished, Natasha cleared her throat. "I'm sorry for interfering before," she said. "I shouldn't have spoken up."

"It worked out," Bucky said with a shrug. He was feeling better now that he'd gotten some lunch.

"Talk about Russian tortures sets Nat on edge," Clint said with his mouth full.

Natasha gave him a sharp elbow to the side. "I won't do it again," she promised Steve.

"I'll try not to dither," he promised in return.

"I'm worried about the two triggers we have left," Natasha admitted. "The single words didn't bother me as much as the two phrases."

"Freight car," Bucky growled.

"I know that has deep meaning to you," Natasha said. "But to me, Homecoming seems particularly ominous."

"Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu" was the trigger phrase they translated as "Homecoming" in English, but "Vozvrashcheniye" by itself also meant "Homecoming." To a native-Russian speaker, the three-word phrase meant more specifically "coming home to your homeland." A better translation in English might have been "repatriation."

Natasha explained her worries, carefully skirting around saying any of the phrase in Russian.

" 'Repatriation,' like when a prisoner of war is returned to his homeland?" Sam asked sourly.

"Exactly. I think it takes a particularly cruel mind to choose a trigger phrase like that," Natasha said.

"Taunting me, like I said," Bucky answered. He took his third hotdog from the platter Cebisa delivered. "You guys are dwelling on it too much," Bucky opined. "You've gotta remember all this happened decades ago and most everyone involved is dead now."

"But you're reliving it every time I say one of the words," Steve pointed out.

Bucky shrugged. "It's got to be done. I've gotten through eight words and I'm still me. The last ones, Homecoming and Freight Car, might be bad, but I'll get through them, too."

His confidence made everyone relax.

With their appetites satisfied and their spirits revived, the team returned to the treatment room for their afternoon session.

* * *

Natasha, Bucky and Steve told Uviwe about their concerns for the two phrases left to speak. He suggested using the sensor helmet and chest strap again. He had forgone them in the morning session, because he knew Bucky found them uncomfortable. And because there hadn't been much variation in the data from each of the first day's words.

"But if these phrases are different, then perhaps the data will show us something new," he suggested.

Bucky agreed and donned the equipment before he sat in the chair.

* * *

Because of her worries, Natasha braced herself when Steve said, "Homecoming," but she still didn't expect what happened.

With an inarticulate cry, Bucky lurched to his feet. Everyone backed away, ready to defend, but Bucky was deep in a flashback. He staggered randomly around the room wincing away from remembered pains, as he clutched at his neck, or at his missing arm.

Music didn't catch Bucky's attention and the Avengers didn't want to provoke an attack by getting close enough to apply any of the other countermeasures.

"Wanda?" Steve asked.

Wanda tried to feel what Bucky felt. His flashbacks kept shifting rapidly among a variety of scenes involving cattle prods and something else Wanda was too familiar with.

"He had a shock collar," she said angrily. "He's undergoing some sort of training, using electric shock batons, like cattle prods. Or sometimes a shock collar."

"Or sometimes a shock from his artificial arm," Sam guessed, watching Bucky clutch at his absent arm.

"Yes."

"Can you reach him?" Steve asked.

Wanda was doubtful. "He's seeing so many scenes, I can't break through."

"Ice water," Natasha suggested, nodding at Clint to fetch it. "And maybe a change of tunes," she added, with a smirk that Steve distrusted. She texted a message to Sharon, who switched from rock to music more familiar to Bucky, "The Star Spangled Man With a Plan."

Steve rolled his eyes in with a pained expression.

Bucky paused his meandering to cock his head at the music and Clint launched a cupful of cold water toward the man's face.

Bucky sputtered back to awareness. He clutched at his empty shoulder, rubbed his neck and flopped back into his chair with an "ugh."

"That was no fun," he said.

The 1940s song reached a crescendo that made Steve wince. "Neither is this," he told Bucky. He made a throat cutting gesture and the music cut off in mid-word.

"I can't believe someone recorded that," Bucky said with a tired smile.

Steve's glare met Natasha's smirk. "I can," he said with a longsuffering sigh.

"What did you see?" she asked Bucky.

"It wasn't as interesting as you thought it might be," he answered.

* * *

 _They let Bucky think he was escaping, but a line of troops surrounded him at the tree line. They had electric cattle prods, which they used to turn him around and drive him back to the base, all the while chanting "Homecoming."_

 _Shivering at the entrance, Bucky was met by the colonel, who said "Benign," put his arm around the exhausted soldier and drew him back into the warmth of the base._

* * *

 _In another "Homecoming," the lines between Bucky and the Soldat were blurred. He wanted to please. He wanted the pain to end. He wore a shock collar and stood in the middle of a field of multicolored sticks. A senior officer lounged in a chair, using a remote control to shock the prisoner and steer him left, right, forward and back, until he maneuvered through the sticks in a pattern only the officer knew. All around the field, guards stood, chanting "Homecoming," "Homecoming." When Bucky finished the course, the senior officer threw his arms in the air shouting "Benign!" Cheering, the guards swarmed Bucky, patted him on the back and hoisted him on their shoulders. They carried him triumphantly back to the base, now chanting "Benign," "Benign."_

* * *

 _Yet another "Homecoming," this time for the Soldat. The shocks came from his metal arm. He stoically obeyed the shocks as quickly and efficiently as he could. Though no guards were visible, the thought of escape never crossed his mind._

* * *

 _On his first solo mission away from the base, to kill a troublesome dissident, the Soldat only needed one reminder shock to send him rapidly back to base after his mission was accomplished._

" _He did well," an observer reported._

" _Benign," the colonel praised his soldier, and had him served a warm meal._

* * *

"Trained like a dog to come home when called," Bucky said ruefully. He made a sour face at the word "home." "They herded me with electric cattle prods first, then with a shock collar. They would shock the left side of my neck to drive me right, and so on. When they finally got the arm working, the shocks came from it. Homecoming," he said with disgust.

"A particularly cruel mind," Natasha agreed.

* * *

There was only one word left, so there was no point beating around the bush. When Bucky was ready, Steve said, "Freight Car."

The Avengers were braced for screams, but not for Bucky shouting, "Liar!"

Angry tears in his eyes, Bucky beat at his head with his fist — hard. The sensor helmet sparked, then a little curl of smoke began to rise.

Uviwe's EEG readings went dark, while Bucky's heart rate went sky high and his respiration erratic.

Steve hurried to wrestle the helmet off Bucky's head and stamped on it to extinguish the smoldering. The doctor winced to see his expensive gear flattened by a Super Soldier, but that was preferable to frying his patient.

"It's a lie!" Bucky screamed defiance at his own memories.

He doubled forward and Steve caught him before he could fall. Bucky clutched at Steve's shirt.

The others tensed, ready for action, but this wasn't an attack. Bucky fisted Steve's shirt and shook his friend for emphasis.

"It's a lie! Say it again!" he ordered Steve. "Say the words again."

Steve hesitated, but Bucky begged him, so Steve repeated "Freight Car."

Bucky again doubled over from the pain and shock of the memories that hit him. "Lies!" he whispered roughly.

"What is it, Buck? What lies?"

"Tell me what happened, when I fell from the train," Bucky demanded hoarsely.

"You saved my life," Steve said. "A Hydra soldier had blasted a hole in the wall of the freight car." Bucky winced, even though Steve spoke in English. "He was going to blast us. You grabbed up my shield and protected us from the blast, but the force threw you out the hole." Steve's voice choked up as he continued. "I tried to get to you, I swear it, but the railing you were holding onto broke away and you fell."

"I believe you," Bucky assured his friend. "I know you. I knew you then and I know you now. I believe that's what happened. But that's not what I remember!"

* * *

 _Steve wasn't the same since the serum, Bucky thought, as they waited to board the train carrying Arnim Zola. He was colder, more aggressive and belligerent. Of course, they were in a war zone, Bucky excused his friend._

 _Steve seemed more authoritarian, too. Less willing to listen to anyone else. No one else seemed to notice. But then, Bucky was the only one who'd known Steve before and a lot of officers acted like tin pot gods._

 _And Steve didn't like to be reminded of his younger days, when he was small and sick. Bucky had been telling the other Commandos a story. Steve called him aside later._

" _I don't appreciate you undermining my authority, Barnes," he said coldly._

" _Barnes?" Bucky couldn't believe what he was hearing._

" _You're in the Army, sergeant. You're not a kid on the streets of Brooklyn any more."_

 _All Bucky could say was, "Yes sir."_

 _Steve nodded shortly and left._

 _Bucky was called back to himself as they slid down the line to the train and engaged the enemy. When he saw his pal in trouble, he didn't hesitate to grab the shield and defend Steve's back, even though the reflected blast blew a hole in the side of the freight car. (For some reason, the words freight car made him shiver.)_

 _Instead of saying, thanks, Steve snatched the shield away. "You're getting above yourself, Barnes. You're no Captain America," Steve sneered and shoved Bucky out of his way. The sergeant staggered backwards and fell out the hole. He caught the edge of the floor and begged for Steve's help._

 _Cap came closer and Bucky held up his hand to be pulled up. "You're an embarrassment to me, Barnes," Steve growled. "I don't need a sidekick any more." Steve deliberately stepped on Bucky's fingers, causing the man to lose his grip. As Bucky fell, Steve turned away, not even watching his longtime friend plummet to his death._

* * *

"No, not, that's not what happened," Steve begged, horrified.

Bucky caught him around the neck and pulled him close. "I know. I remember the war. I remember my birthday party. I know that person in the freight car isn't you. The memory is a lie," he reassured him friend. His lip quivered, as he remembered this week of hard-won nightmarish memories. "But if this memory is a lie, what about all the others?"

* * *

 _A/N: I have been working so long to get to "Liar!" I hope I can figure out what comes next! Zola's timeline is partially based on Agent Carter, season 1, final episode._


	51. Altered States

**Altered States**

Uviwe put both his hands on Bucky's shoulders.

"Breathe, my boy, breathe," he commanded. "You do not need to doubt the work we have done this week. The readings for this last flashback are distinctly different from all the others. This one is false. The others are not."

With dawning hope, Bucky raised his head from Steve's shoulder.

"Really? You're sure?"

"Yes. Come see," the doctor invited.

Steve would have shot to his feet, but he was tangled with Bucky, who didn't have a free arm to get back in balance.

"Here." Sam offered his hand, grasping Bucky's forearm and getting a return clasp. Sam steadied Bucky while Steve stood, then the two hoisted Bucky to his unsteady feet. They supported each other on the short trip to Uviwe's desk. The doctor pushed his own chair behind Bucky, then everyone crowded around to see the tablet's screen.

"I've been calling this an EEG, electroencephalogram, for simplicity, but measuring the electrical activity in the brain is the least of what this does. This equipment is more sophisticated," the doctor said. "It gives us a personalized picture of an individual's brain activity."

"I do not understand," Wanda confessed.

"I don't think anyone understands," Clint said.

"Well … here, let me demonstrate." Uviwe called up three charts. "This is Bucky's baseline chart. This is mine. This is one Steve was kind enough to let me take, so I could demonstrate how the equipment worked."

There were many jagged lines on the charts. Uviwe pointed out the similarities and the differences.

"Now, here is one under physical stress." Uviwe called up another chart.

"That one is yours," Sam decided after a moment of study.

"Yes, I took a long treadmill test to get this chart," the doctor said. He pointed out the places where it was the same as his baseline and where it was different.

"Now, this is one under mental stress."

"That's Bucky's," Steve said with certainty.

"Yes." Uviwe called up the labels and this one read "Daybreak," the trigger word that had brought memories of the chair.

The psychiatrist showed the ways that Bucky's baseline was different from the readings during a stressful flashback. "And yet this area is the same, so these charts belong to the same person. Yes?"

"Yes." The others all agreed.

The doctor called up three more charts for comparison, each labeled with the English version of the trigger word: Seventeen, which was a beating; Benign, which was a pleasant reward; and Freight Car, the false memory.

The first two were obviously similar to the baseline and Daybreak. Whether the memory was mild or traumatic, the scans obviously belonged to the same man; but the fifth was different, even to the untrained eye.

"Those are like the brainwaves of an entirely different person," exclaimed Sam.

"Exactly," Uviwe said.

"Could that be the multiple personality?" Bucky asked hesitantly.

Uviwe shook his head. He pointed at Bucky. "With the readings I have collected, I can tell the difference between Bucky and the Soldier. I can tell the difference between good memories and traumatic ones. But those are all different aspects of the same person." He stabbed a finger at the anomalous chart. "This is, as Sam said, readings that seem to be from an entirely different person. I have never seen this in all my years of working with multiple personalities. I am at a loss to explain this."

"Oh, I think it's easy enough to explain," Natasha said. "One word … " She and Steve and Wanda together said, "Hydra."

"Is that explanation enough?" Uviwe asked curiously.

"Look at me, doctor," Wanda said. Red mist gathered and lifted Uviwe off his feet just a moment, then set him down carefully. "Scientists who have no scruples can work miracles, and there is nothing so terrible as a miracle," she said wryly, remembering Strucker.

"So you think this is the only false memory?" Bucky asked, getting to the heart of his worries.

"All the other readings have been related to your baseline," Uviwe said. "This is something else. But I don't know what."

"Then we need more information. You need to say the words again, Steve. Maybe I'll see something new."

Steve grimaced, but agreed.

"May I join you?" Wanda asked. "If I join with your mind, before Steve says the words, perhaps I will see something from the outside that you miss looking from the inside."

"Are you sure?" Bucky asked doubtfully. "I don't want to hurt you."

Wanda gave him a sweet smile. "I have survived horrors of my own. I am tougher than you think."

Bucky still hesitated.

"I have seen enough of Steve's heart and your memories," Wanda said. "I know that any memory of Steve being cruel is a lie. I will look for any oddity that will show how this perverted memory was installed in your mind."

" 'Installed,' I like that," Sam said with a decisive nod.

"Let's try it," Bucky decided.

* * *

Wanda sat on her stool with Clint standing behind her to keep her from falling.

Because she had Bucky's full approval, Wanda had no trouble inserting herself into his mind. She always had a hard time describing her telepathic connection to others. To her, it seemed that she tucked herself into a back corner where she could see everything.

For a moment, she experienced double vision, until she closed her physical eyes and only looked through Bucky's.

"Ready?" Steve asked.

"One minute," Wanda replied, as she settled her mind into place. She felt uncomfortable, which was unusual. Then she realized she was sharing her corner with another. The Winter Soldier was beside her, watching everything with a sniper's focus. It was spooky when he turned that attention to her, though he made no aggressive move. His mind was unlike Bucky's or any other she had known, not suspicious or curious, just watchful.

Wanda gave the presence a friendly nudge with an image of chocolate birthday cake. The Soldier didn't respond, exactly, but he shifted his attention outward, indicating he found her nonthreatening.

"I'm ready," Wanda said, her voice sounding remote to the others.

"I'm ready," Bucky agreed.

Steve took a deep breath and firmly said, "Freight Car" in Russian.

The memory played again, identical to Bucky's description.

Wanda kept her "eyes" on the "edges" of the flashback, as if she was watching the theater instead of the film.

But it was the keen-eyed sniper beside her who saw it first. She felt a mental nudge and followed the Soldier's gaze to catch a glimpse of a white-garbed scientist. The angle was low, looking up at the man standing above the viewer — above the Soldat, Wanda guessed. Once she saw the image, she was able to focus on the scene beyond the false memory that Bucky was reliving.

The scientist had a round piggy face and cruel eyes behind thick glasses with round lenses. There was a complex machine beside him, with electricity sparking from a number of evil-looking probes. The scientist set down a bloody scalpel and raised an odd device that looked like a hand blender. Wanda tried to memorize the man's face and a description of the unfamiliar devices.

The scientist spoke, "Now, with our Freight Car, we will remove the last of your loyalty to your old life," he said in English with a German accent.

Then, in the memory, Bucky fell and, in the treatment room, Bucky gasped himself awake.

Wanda swayed, but Clint's hand on her shoulder kept her from falling.

With a "thank you" to the Soldier, Wanda withdrew carefully from Bucky's mind.

"Did you learn anything?" Uviwe asked Bucky.

"No, it was exactly the same."

"That in itself is suspicious," the doctor said. "Every other repeated flashback has shown you something new."

"Wanda, did you find out anything?" Steve asked.

"I saw a doctor, or a scientist, standing over the Soldat. I think the Soldat was on an operating table. The scientist had a bloody scalpel and terrible looking devices I couldn't identify," the young woman said. She told them what the man had said about removing the last loyalty to his old life.

"So they changed his last memory of Steve." Sam's voice was tight with anger.

"Can you describe the scientist?" Steve asked. When she did, Steve's lips tightened.

"You know him?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question.

"I think so," Steve answered. "Can you show him to me?"

Wanda could only project her thoughts into a willing mind, but she and Steve had often practiced together. She was able to show Steve a picture of the man she had seen.

"Zola," Steve growled.

"I knew he did something to me that I couldn't remember," Bucky said with resignation.

"But how could he have implanted such a detailed false memory?" Uviwe mused. "Memory is flexible. People can be persuaded into false memories, but this is so detailed."

"This is Hydra, doc," Natasha said dryly. "This is Zola. This is a man who tried to kill Steve and me 40 years after his death!"

"He somehow transferred his memories and personality into a computer," Steve said.

"In the 1970s!" Natasha interjected.

"He could have somehow programmed a false memory into Bucky," Steve said.

"I wouldn't put anything past him," Natasha agreed. "The term evil genius has Zola's picture next to it in the dictionary."

Uviwe found all this hard to believe, but he was talking to the Avengers, after all.

"Can you show me the equipment you saw," he asked Wanda.

It took a little time, because they'd never met mind to mind before, but Wanda finally was able to show the doctor what she'd seen. He didn't recognize the electrical machine, but the other was familiar from history books. "That's a bone saw," he said heavily. "Something you might use to open a skull."

"And the Soldat was awake!" Wanda was outraged.

"I hope, I really hope, that's a memory I never recover," Bucky said with a shudder. He sensed the Soldier was in complete agreement.

"Let's get out of here," Clint suggested. "Let's go …" He considered the list of Bucky distractions, then brightened. "Let's go have a water fight. We can swim and play with Sam's drone and shoot super soakers and throw water balloons."

"Good childish fun," Natasha said with approval.

"You have earned it," Uviwe agreed.

"See you guys at the pool," Bucky said to the ceiling — to Sharon and T'Challa, he presumed.

* * *

"Barnes, can you tell where or when Zola worked on Zimniy Soldat?" Natasha asked, as they walked back to their rooms to change.

Bucky concentrated on his first vision of Zola during one of the "Nine" flashbacks. The man was older than he'd been at Azzano, but he wore his years lightly. Bucky called up an image of the assistants in the background. They all had lab coats on, but two hadn't fastened them, so he could see bright colors beneath. He closed his eyes so he could "see" better. Natasha put a hand on his elbow to steer him away from the walls.

"They were speaking German," Bucky said finally. "One of them was wearing bright colors under his lab coat — red pants with a white turtleneck sweater and a colorful vest. Another had a black turtleneck and blue jeans."

"Sounds like late '60s, early '70s," Clint commented, getting a nod of agreement from Sam.

Natasha began to fiddle with her smartphone.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked.

"I'm mining through the SHIELD data dump for info about Zola," she answered. It was a lot of information, but she'd spent time organizing and saving info of particular interest, like anything about her friends and people who tried to kill her. There was a large section in between those devoted to the Winter Soldier, who was both.

"Here we go," she said in satisfaction.

"That was fast," Sharon said, impressed.

Natasha shrugged, "I have an app for that," she smirked.

They all went into Steve's suite and she explained what she'd learned. "This is most probable," she said. "Zola went to West Germany for a conference in 1969. Russian Hydra could have easily transferred the Soldat in cryo to East Germany and allowed Zola to cross the border to work on him."

"He didn't have anyone in SHIELD watching him or protecting him?" Steve demanded.

"His protection detail was handled by the State Department," Natasha answered dryly. "The guy in charge was named Alexander Pierce."

"Figures," Sam muttered.

"So, if you have Hydra agents on the Russian side and Hydra agents on the American side, it's easy to sneak across the German border without causing suspicion," Clint said. "It's cheating, but it works."

"The definition of cheating in the dictionary has a Hydra logo next to it," Sharon said decisively.

"You said it, sister," Sam answered, and high-fived his teammate.

"That's enough work," Bucky said. "Let's go have some fun."

* * *

The Avengers split up to change for water sports. The guys wore board shorts in a variety of colors: Royal blue for Steve, navy for Bucky, red with vertical white stripes on the sides for Sam, purple and white aloha pattern for Clint. The women wore tankini's — two-piece suits with bikini bottoms and a tank top. Any of the women could have rocked a skimpy two-piece, but Wanda was naturally modest, Sharon was dating a modest man and Natasha didn't want to flaunt the bullet wound scars that the Winter Soldier had given her. Nonetheless, they were a vision of beauty to the appreciative male eyes. Sharon's suit was a watercolor abstract with turquoise and blue on white. Natasha's tankini was a black and white floral pattern and Wanda's was a red and white Hawaiian pattern. (Yes, Laura Barton had bought Hawaiian-patterned swimsuits for everyone in her family. It was a hint her husband had been unable to follow up on.)

Setting up the kitchen to prepare dinner, Cebisa paused to admire the display of male muscles and feminine grace. "You make a lovely picture," she said in appreciation.

Clint opened a bag and began pulling out gaudy, oversized super soaker guns.

Cebisa sighed. "And then the child comes out." She didn't actually disapprove. She knew something about the trauma they were dealing with and thought a water fight would help them blow off some steam.

Grinning, Clint blew Cebisa a kiss and Bucky bussed her cheek as they left. They followed a guide to a private pool with play equipment around it. The pool was deep enough to dive into, with shallow shelves along two sides to rest on. There was a diving board, a waterfall coming out of a spa and two towers with slides and climbing bars.

While the others were laying out towels and Sam was showing Bucky how to operate his black stealth drone, Clint filled the super soakers and, seeing no eyes on him, he snatched a gun and slipped up the ladder into one of the towers. The sniper lay prone and braced himself as he took a bead on the side of Steve's head.

Then water exploded in his face. The jet from across the pool actually hit Clint's water gun, but the splash drenched his whole face. He wiped his eyes clear to see Sharon poised on the diving board, water rifle propped on one hip while she waved pertly.

And then a water balloon burst on her head. She shook her wet head like a dog, while Sam's drone rose high in the air, its payload released. Sam and Bucky high-fived, then ducked, covering the drone controls, as twin jets of water sprayed them.

"I thought we were friends!" Bucky sputtered, laughing.

Steve had one Super Soaker in each hand, as he drenched the guys. "Gals before pals," Steve answered, with a grin. When the water rifles ran dry, Sam took the controls from Bucky and sent his drone on a strafing run, firing water-filled paintballs.

Steve laughed and cannonballed into the pool, splashing everyone on the deck. The drone strafed the pool, but Steve was underwater. It continued past, peppering Natasha who was trading shots with Clint. The two spies turned their water guns on Sam and Bucky.

Drenched from Steve's cannonball, Wanda dropped a globe of power into the pool. It exploded like a depth charge, launching Steve out of the pool on top of Bucky and Sam, splashing Natasha and Wanda herself, and fountaining clear up to the tower to drench Clint.

"Now that's a water fight!" a new voice exclaimed.

Soaked by the blast, T'Challa stood at the pool entrance. His gold metallic shorts made a bright contrast against his dark skin. A group of children peered past him, awed by the enormous splash. Steve recognized the King's Class, orphans who lived in the palace.

"I have brought you more children to play with," T'Challa joked. "I did not expect such a 'flood' of greetings."

"I think I got carried away," Wanda apologized.

"No, this is getting carried away," Bucky answered, scooping her off her feet and diving into the water. When they surfaced, the two began splashing each other. Steve rolled off Sam, and rolled the two of them into the water to join the fun. Clint and Natasha's eyes met. The two spies shrugged and dove in. Sharon waved at T'Challa, "If you can't beat them …" she suggested.

"Join them!" the king commanded, with a sweeping gesture. The kids barreled into the pool. Sharon and T'Challa thought better of diving in, now that the pool was so crowded. The king jumped in feet first, careful of his landing, and Sharon slid down a curving chute to plop into the pool next to Steve.

She bounced up and began treading water next to her beau.

"Thanks for standing up for me, but I can take care of myself," Sharon said in a teasing manner.

"You're welcome. And I know," Steve answered. And then he dunked her.

* * *

 _A/N: Brand-new head canon: The memory altering techniques used on Phil Coulson during Project TAHITI (as seen on Agents of SHIELD) were based on research done by Arnim Zola when he worked for SHIELD. Zola wouldn't have cared if his patient screamed for mercy!_


	52. Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

**Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch**

At five minutes of 6 p.m., Lila Barton laid down her pencil and got up from the kitchen table. She took a box of tiny screwdrivers out of the very back of the kitchen junk drawer and lifted a smartphone from beneath the box.

She carefully closed the drawer and placed the phone on the kitchen table, propping it up with a dishtowel so she could see it from her chair. She sat back down and propped her chin on her fist, watching and waiting.

At three minutes of 6, Cooper Barton put down his videogame controller and joined his sister at the kitchen table. One minute later, Laura Barton came down the stairs, bouncing baby Nate in her arms. He was getting big. She'd have to stop thinking of him as "baby Nate" soon, but "toddler Nate" didn't have the same ring.

Nate brightened when he saw the phone. "Dada!" he said, reaching toward the still dark screen.

Laura set him in his highchair so he could see but not touch, and pulled up a stool behind her two oldest kids.

At the exact moment the phone clock shifted from 5:59 to 6:00, the phone rang and "unknown number" appeared on the lock screen. "Dada!" Nate said happily.

Lila touched the screen to answer and saw her father's face. "Hi, Daddy!"

* * *

"Hi, gang," Clint said. Natasha Romanoff looked over his shoulder to say "Hi," and Wanda waved from the background. Greetings exchanged, the two women left to give Clint some private time with his long-distance family.

He went into his Wakandan bedroom and settled himself comfortably in an armchair, propping his phone on his knee. "So, what have you all been up to?" he asked.

He heard about Cooper's A in math and Lila's A in spelling. He admired the clay bowl Lila made in art class and the birdhouse Cooper built in woodshop. He gave approval for Lila to go on a sleepover (after seeing Laura's nod in the background) and for Cooper to take a lifesaving class instead of advanced swim.

Laura told him about the horses escaping when a fallen branch broke a board on the corral.

"But they came right back when Cooper whistled and shook the bucket of oats," she said.

"See, training pays off," Clint said, complimenting both his kids for their hard work with the livestock.

In return, Clint told them about the massive water fight. He made them laugh, describing Steve's cannonball and Wanda's reverse cannonball.

"The king brought us a bunch of kids to play with," Clint said. "They're all orphans. Orphans who show special talent are recommended to the king. Bravery, schoolwork, gymnastics — whatever they excel at (and most kids excel at something, T'Challa confided to me)."

"So, really, orphans are raised by the king," Laura said.

"Pretty much," Clint agreed. "Better deal than I got," he said, with only mild bitterness. Then he smiled broadly. "They were great kids, very creative. We built catapults and did water ballet. You haven't lived until you've seen a one-armed former soldier try to do underwater acrobatics. He was great at corkscrews, not so good at swimming straight ahead. The kids taught him how to go straight using just his feet."

"They sound nice," Cooper said.

"They were. And they really enjoyed the pool toys," Clint said.

"Daddy, when are you coming home?" asked Lila, trying very hard not to whine.

"I'm still not sure, sweetie. We still have some work to do here." Clint shook his head at her pout. "I'll do my best," he promised. "You kids better finish your homework. It's almost bedtime."

Cooper was already finished and Lila only had two math questions left, but they knew dad wanted to talk to mom. They said their goodbyes and Laura took the video call into her bedroom.

* * *

Clint closed the video call and went into the main room of his suite where Natasha was reading a novel in Latvian. Clint sighed. "I really miss them."

"Maybe it's time to go, then. I think Steve and the Wakandans have everything under control," Natasha said. "I don't think they need us."

Clint shook his head uncertainly. The archer was loyal to a fault, but his loyalties were pulling him in two directions. "I don't know."

"You should go home," a new voice said.

The two spies turned to see Wanda and Steve had entered through the open connecting door to the other suite.

"You should go," Steve repeated earnestly.

"I know Laura and the kids miss you," Wanda said, crossing the room to take the hand of the man who had become a second father to the lonely Sokovian outcast. "I know they must be worried."

"Because the last time you answered the call of Captain America, you ended up in prison," Steve said sourly. "I'm surprised Laura didn't handcuff you to the bed."

"Ooh, kinky," Natasha teased, trying to ease the tension. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Hilarious," Steve grumbled. "You know what I meant. You should go home, Clint. Your family needs you."

"But you need me, too," Clint protested weakly. He didn't like to give up a job halfway done.

"We need to have a meeting," Wanda decided. She clutched Clint's hand and towed him past Steve into the other room where Sam, Bucky, Sharon and T'Challa were chatting.

"Clint wants to go home," Wanda announced.

"I didn't say that," Clint protested, embarrassed that they'd think he would bail.

"You should go," Bucky said instantly. "You have a family."

"You guys are my family, too," Clint answered.

"We'll manage," Sam said. He had married sisters who always had to choose between families at the holidays. "You've spent enough time with the in-laws. Time to go back to your own family."

Everyone nodded agreement.

Natasha cleared her throat. "If he goes, I'll go, too. He's my ride," she pointed out. Everyone knew she'd been postponing her own business on Bucky's behalf.

"That's fair," Bucky agreed.

"I'm the only native Russian speaker," Natasha pointed out.

"Steve and Sharon and Wanda know enough," Sam said. "Hell, I can say all the words, just from hearing them so often."

"And the Soldier knows German," Bucky volunteered. "Steve and Sharon are good in German."

"He seems to know English, too," T'Challa said. "I don't think you have to worry about translation."

"You'll be losing two of your fighters, too," Natasha said, playing devil's advocate.

"The Soldier doesn't want to fight," Bucky said promptly. "He never wanted to fight; he just didn't understand anything but obedience. Obedience to avoid pain."

"In any case, I will stay," Wanda declared. "I'm sure I can get a ride home, when we're done. I know a king." She tipped a smile at T'Challa, who flourished a bow from his seat in return.

"I will protect Wanda as if she were my sister," the king said. "Though, like my sister, Wanda can take care of herself."

"I am the only one who can restrain the Soldier without hurting him," Wanda reminded Clint.

"And he knows that," Clint said grimly, chewing his lower lip.

"I'll be fine, papa," Wanda teased affectionately.

"You have a home to go to, Barton," Bucky said forcefully. "The rest of us don't. We can hang out here for a while longer, until T'Challa gets tired of guests and throws us out."

"The palace has 386 guestrooms and 247 for permanent residents and 789 for staff," T'Challa pointed out. "Plus an entirely separate wing for the royal family. And that's just sleeping quarters. I can avoid you if I wish. Instead, I hide with you, claiming the need to be a good host, and I avoid other people who annoy me. I will miss you all when you leave," he said sincerely.

"It's late. We should sleep on it," Sharon said practically. "We'll talk to Dr. Uviwe tomorrow. Make plans. You know Steve LOVES to make plans."

"I'm told it's one of my best talents," Steve quipped.

The group decided to follow Sharon's advice and everyone went to their respective bedrooms. Natasha and Clint lingered for a moment in their living room. "Are you going to call Laura?" she asked. It was much later in Wakanda than at the ranch. His wife wouldn't have gone to bed yet.

"I'll wait until we know more. No point getting hopes up," Clint decided. "You ready to move on?" Clint asked and read the affirmative in her eyes. "I've got one more thing to do, then we can go," he said.

* * *

Because Clint was leaving his oldest, newest daughter with Steve and company, he wanted to make sure she stayed safe. If the Winter Soldier grabbed control, Wanda would be able to contain him with her psy powers, which meant she would be the Soldier's prime target. The Soldier's reflexes had been honed through 70 years of torture. Wanda couldn't match that, no matter how diligent she was in training. Clint had to make sure she had a moment of grace to react.

He stayed up all night working on a project to protect Wanda. After breakfast, the team met with Uviwe to ask his opinion about Clint and Natasha leaving.

* * *

Bucky still wanted to keep security plans secret from the Soldier (who fully approved of operational secrecy). Bucky went to Cebisa's kitchen to teach her how to make his mother's molasses cookies.

Bucky, Cebisa and her husband Themba spent a lot of time teasing each other about American English and English English. Cebisa learned her cooking terms from an Englishwoman, so she called "cookies," "biscuits." Bucky countered that "biscuits" were something else entirely, something that Cebisa had never made.

"A little like a scone, but fluffier," she guessed from his description.

Bucky had eaten scones when he was stationed in England, so he agreed that was approximately true.

He ended up teaching Cebisa his mother's recipe for baking powder biscuits, to go along with the molasses cookies.

While they worked, they continued to talk about the differences in English. "Steve and I were in England during the war," he told the Wakandans. "Besides food, the biggest difference was automobiles. I had to learn about bonnets and boots and spanners. I kind of understand why cars have 'bonnets' in England and 'hoods' in America. The early cars had that hood/bonnet curve on their engine covers. Now when it comes to the rear end, I think 'trunk' makes more sense, because you pack stuff in it."

While Cebisa and Themba were chuckling, Bucky took a cup of coffee to the kitchen table. He looked out the window at the kitchen garden. Gardeners were watering the herbs and vegetables. A troop of children followed, splashing in any puddles left on the pavement.

Bucky grinned, remembering how he'd done that in rain puddles as a child.

The littlest tyke in the bunch got too enthusiastic and slipped. He fell on his bottom. Sitting in the puddle, he began to cry, more out of surprise than injury. His playmates ran to check on him.

The image of the crying child sitting in a water puddle began to shift into something bloodier in Bucky's mind. He gasped, half stood, then tumbled to the ground.

* * *

At the meeting, Uviwe said he thought Clint and Natasha could leave with good conscience.

"The danger is much less acute than when we started. The Soldier has made only one threatening move, at the beginning," the doctor said. "And he quit immediately when Steve told him to stop. Every time we speak the words, I see a measurable change in the brain scans. Every time, the flashbacks are less intense. And now Bucky and the Soldier can talk to each other. This is remarkable progress," Uviwe said. "We are at the point now where we will simply be repeating the words over and over, until Bucky is fully desensitized. The process is likely to be tedious. I do not expect any trouble."

"If it comes, I'm sure the rest of us will be able to handle it," Steve said.

"I am willing to substitute in the treatment room," T'Challa offered. "I have protective clothing, similar to the Panther suit but less obviously a combat suit, that might give us an unexpected advantage over the Soldier."

"That would be very kind of you," Sharon said.

"I'm still worried about Wanda," Clint said. "The Soldier said she was his highest priority target. So I was working on something last night."

"I don't think he slept at all," Natasha put in.

"I got two whole hours," Clint protested. He outlined his plan to protect Wanda. He planned to build her a box, a transparent, bulletproof box with an air supply that was out of the Soldier's immediate reach. There was no doubt the Soldier could get to her — getting to people was the Soldier's purpose — but not before she could wrap him up and probably knock him out. Clint hoped.

Wanda looked at him as if he was nuts. "Clint," she said gently. "I know Bucky well enough now — and the Soldier, too. I do not have to be in the same room to touch his mind or to bind him physically. If you are so worried, I can trade places with T'Challa and join Sharon in the security room. I can still see what's going on and should have plenty of time to react before the Soldier could escape."

Clint's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "I never thought of that," he admitted.

Wanda leaned over the kissed his forehead. "I love the way you look out for me," she said. "It comforts me. But trust Steve and Sam and Sharon and T'Challa, and even Bucky, to protect me. And trust me to protect them."

Clint let out a deep breath and relaxed, really relaxed. For the first time since they'd come to Wakanda, Wanda realized.

"I'm going home," Clint said with a big, broad smile.

"Just leave your big book of Bucky distractions," Sam said. "They've been a godsend."

* * *

As they stood to adjourn, a rapid knocking sounded at the door. Steve opened it.

"Captain, please come," Themba said. "Something has happened to Mr. Barnes."

"Is anyone hurt?" T'Challa asked sharply, wondering if he had been a fool to let Bucky go off with two cooks.

"No sir," Themba answered respectfully. "Please, I will tell you as we go." He turned and ran with the others pacing him. Fortunately he was a tall, long-limbed man, who moved at a good pace. Even so, Steve might have passed him in impatient concern, but Steve didn't know where Cebisa had taken Bucky.

Themba explained as they ran, that Bucky had been looking out the window and suddenly fell to the floor.

"I believe he suffered a painful memory," the cook said. "But he did not lose awareness or hurt himself or offer to hurt us, despite the many knives available. He just sat down suddenly on the floor and began crying."

* * *

Cebisa sat beside Bucky on the floor, near enough to comfort but not crowding him. Bucky rocked back and forth, tears flowing from his eyes. He looked up when the others entered.

"I finally understand," he said, as much to his other self as to the people around him. He met Steve's eyes. "I saw a child fall in a puddle of water and I remembered a similar child sitting in a puddle of blood. I had all these mental images of children crying in pools of their parents' blood, wives or husbands finding their spouses' bodies, bodyguards broken beside their dead clients." He gave Natasha a sidelong glance. "I hated those memories for their cruelty, but now I understand. The children were alive; the wives and husbands and bodyguards were still alive. The Soldier rebelled as much as he dared. He only slaughtered everyone when he was specifically ordered to leave no witnesses, as with Howard and his wife, or when he was told 'kill everyone who gets in your way,' like on the day of Insight. I thought the Soldier had stopped fighting his captors — but he still was. I still was. I never stopped fighting."

Steve knelt in front of his friend and rested his hands on Bucky's shoulders. "I never doubted it," Steve said.

Bucky tilted sideways to rest his head on Cebisa's shoulder. Taking that for permission, she put her arms around the man and hugged him.

"Do I smell cookies or biscuits?" Clint asked brightly, offering one of his patented distractions.

"Both," Themba answered, and pulled out the baked goods before they could burn.

Pretty soon, everyone was gathered around the table with molasses cookies and milk. Sam nudged Clint with an elbow.

"Gonna miss you," he said. "But it's time to go."

Clint met Natasha's eyes in silent communication. They both nodded. "Time to go," Clint agreed.

* * *

At five minutes of 6 p.m., Lila Barton laid down her crayons, retrieved the secure smartphone from the junk drawer and set it up on the kitchen table.

At three minutes of 6, her mother joined her. Cooper walked his little brother into the kitchen and hoisted him into the highchair. They all took their seats.

At the exact moment the phone clock shifted from 5:59 to 6:00, the phone rang and Clint Barton's face appeared when they answered. When he spoke, Clint's voice came from the phone and from behind them. "I'm home," he said.

When they turned, Clint was smiling at them. He dropped his bag and held out his arms. Cooper ran silently and Lila ran squealing into his arms. Laura set Nate on the floor and he toddled as fast as he could, saying "Dada, dada, dada." Clint pulled him into the crush, then looked up at his wife. "I'm home," he said.

"I'm glad," she answered with a teary smile.

* * *

 _A/N: Next week we leave Wakanda behind temporarily. Imagine the crew continuing to throw Russian words at Bucky over and over._


	53. Fugitives Together

_A/N: Warning for canon pairing that a lot of people didn't like._

* * *

 **Fugitives Together**

"Dr. Bruce! Dr. Bruce!" the boy panted. "Papa sent me. There's been an accident."

Before Bruce Banner could ask questions, Rico had turned and started sprinting toward the center of the village. "Hurry!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Bruce grabbed the backpack that served as his doctor's bag and ran after the youngster. He plunged between two huts and emerged into what amounted to the village square. Most of the village appeared to be there, but Bruce couldn't see anyone injured. His eyes went to Marco, the boy's father. "What …?"

"Really, Banner. How many times are you going to fall for the same trick?" said a familiar voice behind him.

Bruce spun to see a slender woman in khaki pants and open-necked shirt with a genuine pith helmet on her scarlet curls.

"Natasha?" Bruce breathed.

"Hey, sailor," she said coyly.

Bruce stood speechless, drinking in the sight of her, until smothered giggling brought him to his senses. The entire village was watching. Women and children were stifling laughter at his dumbfounded expression, but the men were watchful with bows, spears and rifles in hand.

"They're protecting you," Natasha said, when she saw Bruce's shoulders tense. "I think it's cute."

Cute because Bruce Banner had an inborn protector and cute because the Black Widow could take all the men if she chose — except she thought it was cute.

"She's a hunter," Marco said in Tagalog. "Is she hunting you?"

Bruce realized the men sensed Natasha's dangerous nature. Before he could reassure them, Natasha answered.

"Only as a woman stalks her man," she replied in hesitant but accurate Tagalog.

Bruce was stunned again by her flirtatious words.

Natasha looked atypically uncertain at Bruce's silence. "They said you didn't like surprises. I said you'd like this one. Don't make a liar out of me, big guy."

Bruce's heart beat faster, and not in a bad way. In fact, in his mind, he heard the Hulk snort in approval. A smile broke like daybreak across his face. He grabbed Natasha in a hug, swinging her off her feet and around in a circle. "Natasha!"

She chuckled. "Hi, Bruce."

They hugged fiercely. "I'm sorry," they said simultaneously in each other's ears. They laughed at their unison. "I thought you'd hate me," they said, again simultaneously, and laughed tearfully again.

The village women began to hustle the children away and cluck at the men to give the couple some privacy, but a few of the hunters hesitated.

"You will not hurt him?" Marco asked in English.

"Not on purpose," Natasha promised.

"Are you here to take him away?"

"No, I may even stay, if I am welcome."

"The Black Widow is a noted huntress. She would be welcome."

"Wait, you know who she is?" Bruce asked.

"Of course."

"And me?"

"Yes, Dr. Banner," Marco said patiently. "We have known since the beginning. We're not ignorant primitives," the man holding a spear said with dignity.

"And you let me stay?" Bruce was almost outraged.

Marco shrugged. "You have caused us no trouble."

"But the other guy could …"

Marco interrupted gently. "Doctor, we live in the shadow of Mount Pinatubo." He pointed at the volcano, which had a major eruption in 1991.

"If danger comes, we will act. Until then, we will live and take advantage of your skills and the fertile soil the volcano has given us."

Bruce was speechless. Natasha smiled at him. "We told you," she said.

"Your Tagalog is very good," Marco said diplomatically. It was only fair, Natasha knew. "Have you spent much time in the Philippines?" the hunter asked.

"No, but my friend Hawkeye had a mission here. He liked it here," she pointed at the bows. "And he comes back to Luzon regularly. They call him Kamangha-manghang mamamana."

"Kamangha-manghang mamamana is Hawkeye, the Avenger?" Marco was more amazed by that, than by Bruce being the Hulk. He shrugged in apology. "I have heard of the Amazing Archer since I was a boy. I would think he was a myth, but my uncle met him."

"I'll be sure to tell Clint he's a legend here. You'll make him feel old," Natasha said with amusement.

* * *

The guards faded away, finally leaving Bruce and Natasha alone. They went into Bruce's hut and sat side by side on a floor mat.

"Natasha, what happened to the Avengers. I've heard terrible rumors," Bruce said anxiously. "That the Avengers fought each other at an airport. That Cap is really a Hydra agent."

Natasha held up her hand. "The first is true. The second is ridiculous. Let me tell you what happened. Some of the newspapers call it the Avengers Civil War."

She explained about the Accords and Secretary Ross and the break up of the Avengers. "But everyone is alive," she reassured Bruce. "And I think we're beginning to heal. I wanted to warn you about everything."

"Is that why you came, to warn me?" Bruce asked.

"Partly." Natasha rested her head on his shoulder. "But I needed to heal, too. I needed to apologize. You offered me everything, and I pushed you away — literally. I'm sorry."

She would have explained more, but Bruce put his finger over her mouth.

"Shh, I understand," he said. "I'm glad you did it, Nat. I'm glad you brought out the Hulk when I was afraid. I have this nightmare…"

* * *

 _He and Natasha were running when a wild, terrible wind surged toward them, a superheated sandstorm throwing rocks, as well as sand. Bruce threw his body over Natasha. He transformed, but his impervious body couldn't protect the woman. The debris didn't touch her, but the fiery air sucked the life out of her instantly, then desiccated her body. When the devil wind died again, the Hulk was holding a dark, dry mummy._

 _With a whimper, Hulk staggered to his feet as his body worked to heal many burns and wounds. He lifted Natasha's dead body into his arms and started back toward what had been Sokovia. Around him was a wasteland, a scorched and broken desert turning cold as sand and dust floated in the air and blocked the sun. There was no sign of life, not an animal or bird or even an insect had survived the cataclysm._

 _As he walked, Hulk collected pieces of the Iron Man armor, with pieces of a body still inside. A gleam of silvery light caught his eye and he found Cap's shield, scoured of its paint. There was no sign of the first Avenger, except for two skeletal fingers wrapped around the shield strap._

 _With the remnants of his friends in his arms, Hulk sank down and wept._

* * *

"And then I wake up, with tears running down my face," Bruce finished. "And I'm so glad that you kept me from making that terrible mistake."

Natasha regarded him for a moment. "You're such a dork," she said fondly. It was not the response he expected to his horrifying nightmare.

"You weren't yourself," Natasha continued with a smirk. "So you probably don't remember the sequence of events. Let me tell you what probably would have happened, if I'd decided to run away with you..."

* * *

 _The castle was deserted. All Ultron's army had gone to the city to confront the Avengers. Natasha and Bruce easily found their way out. Natasha started to hotwire a car still sitting in the parking lot after the arrest of Strucker's people._

" _We're stealing a car?" Bruce asked._

" _I'm not walking to Tahiti, or wherever we're going," Natasha replied. "Besides, this is a Hydra car. I'm just liberating it."_

 _Before Bruce could answer, an earthquake nearly threw them from their feet. Bruce threw himself on top of Natasha, knowing the Hulk would protect her from falling debris. But nothing fell near them and, gradually, the shaking died away. A cloud was blocking the sun. The two Avengers turned and saw it was the city blocking the light. Novograd rose slowly on pillars of fire._

" _What's going on? Is Ultron stealing cities now?" Natasha asked._

 _Bruce's voice was hoarse. "No. He's going to drop it." It was bizarre. It was insane. But Bruce was as sure of it as he had even been. "Like the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs. Total destruction, that's what Wanda Maximoff saw." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Natasha. I can't leave now. There are too many lives at stake." His skin was already taking on a green tint, but he held back, giving her a pleading look. She cupped his cheek with her hand._

" _Then we'll go together and we'll fight together. As Steve likes to say, 'I'm with you 'til the end of the line.'"_

* * *

"And then you change and we leap up to the city, just as we did the first time. Plenty of time to catch Stark's vulgar 'hide the zucchini' joke," she finished.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did he really ..."

"Oh yes he did."

"I think you give me too much credit, thinking I would divine Ultron's plan immediately."

"For a genius, you can be pretty dumb, Banner,," Natasha said.

"I have a big green alter ego that would seem to confirm that opinion," Bruce agreed.

"Bruce, one look at Lila's butterfly picture and you put together Ultron's desire to 'evolve' with a butterfly's cocoon and Helen Cho's cradle. Nobody else had a clue," Natasha said earnestly. "I know that even if you didn't figure out the meteor scenario, you wouldn't have abandoned our friends on a flying rock."

"So, Code Green was my destiny," Bruce sighed.

"And the big guy saved billions," Natasha agreed. "And now, here, you are saving dozens, because you're good at saving people, Bruce."

"I like it here," Bruce said.

Natasha linked her arm with his. "I'm sure I'll like it here, too," she said with a promise in her voice that made Bruce smile. "I'm a fugitive. You're a fugitive. We can be fugitives together," Natasha suggested.

"That's the best offer I've heard all year," Bruce answered and kissed her.

 _A/N: A coworker who is from the Philippines translated Amazing Archer into Kamangha-manghang mamamana. I think I'll just call him Clint._

 _I wrote this story in February, February! Just after I wrote Pushing People Away. And then I had to wait until Nat finished helping Steve with Barnes._


	54. The Elder

**The Elder**

After the first intense weeks, Dr. Uviwe decided he wanted to slow down Bucky's therapy sessions. He cut back to two days a week, then one, believing that the time in between was beneficial.

"You cannot begin to feel like a — well, I do not like to use the word normal — but you cannot begin to feel like a normal person, if you do not engage in normal activities," he told Bucky. "Go out and live a life. Find a job to do or a craft to learn."

The same applied to Bucky's supporters, of course. T'Challa was the only one who sighed in disappointment, because working with Bucky and the Avengers was a relief from the press of his official duties as king.

The others needed to find something productive to do in their new off time. The team members threw themselves into learning about the language and culture of Wakanda. Bucky took cooking lessons with Cebisa, trading recipes he remembered from his childhood. Steve joined them sometimes, his perfect memory adding to the recipe file. Sharon trained with the Dora Milaje and, in return, offered techniques she had learned from SHIELD and the CIA. Sam used his wings to scout the jungle, helping Wakanda's forest rangers count and track wildlife.

Steve used his strength to help out in many ways, but his favorite project was a surprise offer to paint a mural at a local school. Steve had a great time planning the project with the children's input, sketching the forest scene on the wall and then helping the children fill in the drawing.

Of course, all the Avengers were available to help T'Challa with any special project.

He called the four Avengers together one morning. "We have a big feast day coming up," he said. "And I need help to prepare the site."

"We're always ready to help," Steve said. "But wouldn't your own people be better. They know what's required."

"They will be helping," T'Challa assured him. "But I want to do much of this myself, with the help of my friends. This is an important ceremony to honor an elder I greatly respect. The labor we perform is our gift to the one we honor."

"Whatever we can do to help," Steve assured him. The others smiled and nodded.

* * *

The festival area was a wide, crescent-shaped beach at a bend in the river. During the rainy season, debris had washed up on the beach and weeds had taken root. T'Challa's friends helped clean up the area. Sharon pulled stubborn weeds and picked up trash. T'Challa moved rocks and carried brush away. Bucky dragged a rake one-handed to neaten the sand, then helped tote firewood. Steve and Sam dug pits for barbecues and lined them with rocks, then filled the pits with Bucky's firewood.

They spent most of two days cleaning up the beach until it met the king's approval.

* * *

When the feast day finally came, all the Avengers donned their finest Wakandan garments, ones that had been personally selected by Cebisa.

Sharon seemed to glow in a bright red dress with silver panels on the sides and silver swirls embroidered on the bodice. Steve wore a blue shirt and pants, with an over robe of red embroidered with silver stars. Sam wore black, with a red robe embroidered with gold falcons. Bucky wore silvery gray with a blue robe embroidered with white snowflakes.

"Somebody thinks they're funny," Bucky commented when he saw the design, but he didn't really mind. He and the Winter Soldier had come to an understanding.

Sam studied him critically. "I don't think they're commenting on you being the Winter Soldier," he said. "I think they're saying you're a flake."

Bucky swatted at him. Sam dodged. Cebisa instantly called the horseplay to a halt. "Do not mess up your good clothes," she said sternly.

"Yes, ma'am," the men answered sheepishly.

Steve felt a little guilty that his team might outshine the king, but he needn't have worried. T'Challa was resplendent in gold and dark orange with black panthers embroidered on his robe. He was delighted by the team's clothing.

"Princely outfits," he declared. "You honor me and our distinguished guest."

* * *

Several members of the king's household joined the Avengers for the short drive to the beach. Among them were Dr. Uviwe and his family, and Cebisa and her husband.

The king's group was first at the beach. Tables had been set up and colorful blankets and rugs carpeted the sand, but people were lacking. A few men and women tended spits of roasting meat, but they were the only ones visible.

Before any of the Avengers could ask, they heard the sound of drums, then shaken bells and rattles, and happy chanting. A crowd of people came around the bend, bringing a wave of color and sound. Many were carrying platters of food. The rest were singing and playing instruments. In the lead were four sturdy men carrying a garland draped litter. But no one was on it.

As the procession moved closer, Steve realized the respected elder they were honoring must be Uviwe, but before he could turn and congratulate the doctor, T'Challa and Sam grabbed Steve from each side and hoisted him into the air. The bearers lowered the litter, came underneath the perplexed Super Soldier, then lifted the litter to their shoulders, scooping Steve out of his friends' hands.

Steve scrabbled for his balance.

"Eyes front, soldier!" Bucky called humorously.

Steve got himself straightened out, crossed his legs underneath him and faced the direction of travel. The song the crowd was singing changed. With the drums and bells and rattles, it took Steve a moment before he realized they were singing — in Wakandan — "Happy birthday to you!"

His friends doubled over in laughter and Steve began to laugh, too.

"Happy 99th birthday, elder!" T'Challa called, as the marchers circled the king's group.

"Happy 99th birthday!" everyone shouted in English or Wakandan.

"Elder? Really?" Steve asked, as the procession came to a halt..

"You are the second oldest person I know," T'Challa replied, elbowing the grinning Barnes. "You planned Bucky's birthday party, but I planned yours."

Most of the people sat on the ground around the seat of honor, while a few went to the serving tables. Steve was settled on a low padded stool at the king's right hand. The stool actually set him a few inches higher than the king, a representation of the esteem accorded his age.

Steve again looked embarrassed, but T'Challa assured him that this was a traditional celebration for elders who reached age 90.

"Since you were not here at your 90th birthday, we will celebrate your 99th," T'Challa said.

"I may have lost count, but I don't think today is the Fourth of July," Steve said dryly. "Why did you hold my surprise party early?"

"So it would be a SURPRISE," Bucky, Sam and Sharon said all together.

"You gave me the best birthday party ever," Bucky added. "I wanted to repay the favor. But this planning was all T'Challa."

"I think you all wanted to embarrass me," Steve said. He hated being in the limelight like this.

"You should not be embarrassed," Cebisa said. "You have done great things in your years on this earth.

There was a murmur of agreement from everyone within earshot.

Themba said, "Look around you, captain. Everyone here knows you, has worked with you, and we think you deserve this honor for such a milestone birthday."

Steve looked around and realized he did recognize at least one person in each family group gathered around. He saw tutors, doctors, scientists, palace staff members and the proprietor of his favorite pastry cart in the local marketplace. The children who helped paint the school mural waved eagerly when they caught his eye and he waved back.

The festivities began with food. It was served in many courses with entertainment in between: dancers, musicians, a children's chorus and several individual singers. One surprise entertainer flew overhead doing complicated aerial maneuvers with red and blue streams of smoke trailing from his wings. Steve had been so focused on the performers, he hadn't even noticed Sam sneaking away. The guest of honor stood to give his pal a hug when Sam landed, bowed to applause and returned to his seat.

Bucky and Sharon told the audience (not too embarrassing) stories about Steve.

Parents brought their babies up to be blessed by the elder.

"It's tradition," T'Challa said, when Steve hesitated.

The schoolchildren and the kids from the King's Class ran up on their own, unafraid of the big white man with the gentle smile. Steve put a hand on each head and wished the children good fortune.

One 90-year-old widow flirted with Steve in a joking manner, saying he was the best looking 99-year-old she'd ever seen. Sharon hugged Steve possessively.

"He's a cradle robber," she told the widow, to everyone's amusement.

The activities went until dark, when Bucky handed Steve a package of sparklers and a "punk for a punk."

"Jerk," Steve responded in a teary voice. He remembered the gift of sparklers at his previous birthday, when Bucky had been in cryo.

Steve lit sparklers for all the kids, and the evening ended with a bright display of aerial fireworks.

"Happy birthday, elder," the Avengers said.

"You're all jerks," Steve answered with a smile.

* * *

 _A/N: I was writing a different story, but I couldn't let Steve's 99_ _th_ _birthday or the Fourth of July holiday pass unnoticed. The sparklers is a reference to Chapter 7, Fireworks._


	55. The Pointing Finger

_A/N: Reference to Chapter 2, Siberian Succor_

* * *

 **The Pointing Finger**

Tony Stark looked at the pile of machine parts on his desk at the New Avengers Facility. To the untrained eye they looked like random pieces of metal and wires, but he could visualize the final product. He unconsciously flexed his left hand as he pictured it.

He reached for the largest piece and accidentally bumped a smaller bit, which rolled across the desk and dove for cover behind the piece of furniture. Tony rolled his eyes.

He shifted the desk forward, tilting it too much. A bottom drawer slid open and the parts on top skittered around like roaches when the lights come on. One piece skittered clear off the edge and dropped neatly into the partly open drawer, as if it had been just waiting for a chance.

Tony huffed at himself. "Typical. You try to fix things and end up making them worse," he said to himself.

He got a box from a shelf, emptied the random bits inside onto the shelf and collected all the parts on his desk. Then he gathered the escapee behind the desk and finally opened the bottom drawer to get the last bit.

He froze.

Inside the drawer, the gleaming bit of metal which looked like (and was) a fingertip, pointed accusingly at the journals that Natasha had sent him a year ago. He'd stuffed them into the drawer and, with a willful effort, forgot about them. Now they were glowering at him with a wintery glare, the glare of the man who had killed his parents.

Tony slammed the door shut. After a couple of calming deep breaths, he opened it again and picked up the metal fingertip, trying not to touch the journals beneath it.

He scooped up the bit of metal and slammed the drawer shut again. He shut it so hard, it rebounded, opening the drawer a crack. Tony put the metal fingertip in the box and took it to the shelf with exaggerated care. He tried to not think about the journals, but his eye kept being drawn back to that crack, an opening to the depths of hell.

Tony was both drawn to it and repulsed. Tony had shut the journals away and successfully put them out of his mind. Now he couldn't escape the thought of them. He was tempted, and Tony Stark had never been able to resist temptation.

He swore under his breath and yanked the drawer open so far it would have fallen on the floor, except for the drawer stopper. He hauled out the stack of notebooks, all helpfully bookmarked with bright red sticky notes.

Tony took a deep breath and opened a notebook.

* * *

Pepper Potts was going through emails at the desk in the room designated as her office in the New Avengers Facility.

"Ms. Potts," Friday's Irish accent came from a speaker in the corner. "Could you check on Mr. Stark, please?" The AI sounded distressed.

"What's wrong, Friday?"

"He's … he's crying," Friday answered. Her programming to protect Tony's privacy clashed with her programming to protect him. The conflict made her stutter.

Pepper stood instantly. "Crying?"

"Yes, ma'am." Friday sounded a little like she wanted to cry herself.

"Is he in his workshop?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Pepper hurried to the workshop. She half expected to find herself locked out, but the books had ambushed Tony and he hadn't thought to insure his privacy. Pepper found Tony hunched over his desk with notebooks scattered around.

She deliberately let her heels click on the concrete floor so he would know she was there. "Tony?" She touched his shoulder.

He looked up, wiping moisture from his reddened eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Romanoff sent me these notebooks. They were Barnes'. He wrote down his memories as they came to him."

Pepper caught her breath. "And the red Post Its?"

"Romanoff marked the places he mentioned my parents."

"Oh, Tony," she said in sympathy. She rested her cheek on his shoulder.

"They're horrible," Tony said in a choked voice. "He remembered the war years first, how he bought the most expensive bottle of booze he could find to thank Howard for flying Steve into enemy territory to rescue him. Dad made him a custom sniper rifle and they bonded over scopes and car engines. Barnes remembered him fondly. Then later he remembered killing Howard."

Tony slid the journal to Pepper with a finger planted on the relevant passage.

"I killed Howard," the shaky writing read. "He knew me, he said my name, but I didn't recognize him. I beat him to death and then I killed his wife, too. God forgive me. God forgive me, because I'll never forgive myself. I killed my friend."

The words were smudged with water drops, tear drops, Pepper assumed. Most of them were long dry, so they were from the writer, not from Tony.

"There's more," Tony said. "There's lots more guilty memories about people he killed, and good memories about his childhood with Steve and terrible memories about being tortured until he didn't know his own name any more."

More tears ran down Tony face and he wiped at them impatiently.

There were tears of pity in Pepper's eyes. "Who are you crying for?" she asked quietly. "Your parents or Barnes?"

"All of them," Tony answered finally.

Pepper sat on Tony's lap and the two cuddled together for comfort.

* * *

After nearly half an hour of silent commiseration, Tony carefully placed the notebooks back in the drawer. He splashed water on his face and then he and Pepper went to find Rhodey and Vision.

Any lingering depression evaporated when they saw the ludicrous sight in the training room.

Wearing his Stark leg braces, James Rhodes trudged doggedly around the perimeter of the glass-walled room. Vision drifted above him, laid out as if paddling a surfboard. The android held the straps of Rhodey's harness, helping the injured man stay upright.

It was like Rhodey had a red-faced guardian angel hovering above him, Tony thought with a chuckle.

"It's cheating, if Vision carries you," he said aloud.

Rhodey's strained, sweaty face gave Tony a monumentally dirty look, but he didn't waste his breath saying anything.

"I am not lifting Col Rhodes," the literal-minded android said. "I am only steadying him. He is doing all the work himself."

"We can see that," said Pepper, ever the peacemaker. "Perhaps he should take a break?"

"Yeah, his face is almost as red as yours, Vizh," Tony said.

Pepper pushed Rhodey's wheelchair forward and he collapsed in it gratefully. He gulped lukewarm water and panted while the others exchanged pleasantries. Tony and Pepper debated what to order for dinner. Rhodey gave them a thumbs up when they mentioned Greek. He was a sucker for falafel.

When Rhodey got his breathing under control, Pepper asked him how he was doing.

"That last surgery really made a difference," Rhodey enthused. "I can feel my toes again. My control is still iffy and my muscles are still weak from disuse, but Dr. Cho said I show improvement every week. I don't understand what you did, Tony, but that new implant is terrific. Dr. Cho said it's revolutionary."

"Hey, genius here!" Tony said with false brightness. He gave a phony PR smile., then clapped his hands. "We should have a dance party!" he exclaimed.

The exhausted injured man and the android gave Tony nearly identical WTF looks that made him snicker.

"Tony," Pepper started.

"Friday, give us some dance music," Tony ordered. "A little Chubby Checkers."

"On it, boss." Loud music blared: "Let's do the twist."

"Tony!" Pepper shouted.

The billionaire held up one finger. In a moment, the music subsided to a conversational level.

"You know that most of our staff spies on us for Ross?" Tony said, not really asking.

"Of course," Vision answered, and the other two nodded.

"Friday is playing music over their microphones, so they can't hear us right now. We have about 10 minutes before they report to Ross and he sends one of them to check on us," Tony said.

"OK, this secrecy has something to do with my surgery?" Rhodey guessed.

"Yeah, I got the idea for bridging damaged nerves from dissecting Barnes' metal arm," Tony said.

"Tony!" Pepper gasped. "How, when did you get the arm?" It was only one of a thousand questions she wanted to ask.

"I've had it all along," Tony answered. "T'Challa captured Zemo in Siberia, then he offered me a ride since my suit was disabled."

* * *

" _I must deliver Zemo to the task force. May I offer you a lift?" the king asked._

 _Tony considered and decided that Ross the lesser was the lesser of two weasels. "Always up for a visit to the land of beer and pretzels," he said._

 _Tony held out his hand and T'Challa helped him up. As he limped toward the exit on stiff armored legs, Tony reached down to snag Cap's abandoned shield._

 _To T'Challa's questioning look, Tony replied shortly, "Souvenir."_

" _And what of that?" the sharp-eyed king asked, gesturing at the metal arm lying on the ground._

 _Tony shied from it instinctively. "It killed my mother," he said hoarsely._

 _T'Challa nodded. "I doubt this version is 30 years old, but I understand your feelings. Better than most," said the man who had vengefully pursued his father's purported killer. "However, I do not feel comfortable leaving it here for Secretary Ross to find. The man is a menace. Do you want me to take it?"_

" _No," Tony said instantly, unable to identify his motive for suddenly wanting it. "I'll take it, analyze it." He stepped toward it, but hesitated to touch the thing that killed his mother._

" _Allow me," T'Challa said smoothly. He wrapped the arm in a rag lying nearby and offered it to Tony, who was able to take it now that the rag disguised it._

" _Thank you," Tony said._

" _We all have our demons," T'Challa replied. "Perhaps analyzing the arm will make it less of a monstrosity."_

" _Doubtful," Tony snarked. "I'll share anything I find, as long as it's just between us," he offered._

" _My biolabs are at your disposal. No one named Ross needs to find out."_

" _Agreed."_

* * *

"The arm was torn off Barnes by my unibeam," Tony said. "There were places where nerve tissue was still connected."

Pepper looked a little sick at the thought.

"Between T'Challa's lab and me, we thought we could duplicate the interface. And I thought, if we could connect a prosthetic to the nerves, we ought to be able to connect nerves to nerves via an implant. So I brought Helen Cho in and, since Rhodey signed the papers to be a guinea pig for her, we decided to try it out."

"Experimenting on your best friend?" Rhodey griped.

"What are friends for?" Tony joked, then, seeing Rhodey's glare, hastened to say, "Cho assured me there was no way it could make your paralysis worse. At the worst, it just wouldn't work at all. But it did, right? You just said it did."

"I did and it does," Rhodey agreed. "There have to be SOME benefits of being friends with a genius," he said to Pepper.

"That and the designer shoes," she agreed.

Tony started to grumble, but Friday warned, "Incoming, boss!"

When Ross' minion entered the training room with a clipboard under his arm, he found a dance party in progress. The music had segued to "Twist and Shout." Tony was grinding down on the Twist, facing Rhodey, who supported himself with his arms between parallel bars while he gamely swiveled his hips. Laughing, Pepper held Vision's hands while she shook her booty and Vision awkwardly turned from side to side.

"Mr. Stark," the security man called.

"Friday, turn the music down," Tony called.

"Reducing volume," Friday said. Friday acted no smarter than Alexa when Ross' people were around.

"What can I do for you, Rollins," Tony said, no more welcoming than usual.

"It's Robbins, sir, and I need you to sign these." He held out the clipboard.

Tony snapped his fingers. "That's right, Rollins was a Cap-hating Hydra flunky. I don't know why I keep getting you mixed up."

Robbins ignored the insult.

Pepper intercepted the clipboard, flipped through the documents, then offered it to Tony. "Supply forms," she explained. "I'm sure they could have waited until business hours."

"Sorry, ma'am. We like to stay on top of things," Robbins said woodenly.

"I'm sure you do," Tony said ambiguously. He signed off on the papers, then shooed the man away.

* * *

When Robbins got back to the security office, he contacted Ross on a video call. "They actually are having a dance party, sir. I think it's a pretense to get Col. Rhodes to exercise," he offered.

"Stark is wasting his time on medical research," Ross growled. "Better he should make more weapons, or a detector to track down Rogers and his fugitives. But at least this keeps him out of my hair," the secretary decided.

* * *

Tony watched the door close behind Ross' flunkey.

"I miss the others a lot," he said, getting nods from his friends. "But most of the time I'm glad they're not here. Even though they're fugitives, they're freer than we are."

* * *

 _A/N: Good thing I had this story mostly done when I decided to do The Elder for the holiday. On Monday I fell and banged my hand, which is now swollen and purple, though not broken, yay! I'd better limit my typing to work for a bit. So, no posting for a couple weeks. I should be back by the first Saturday in August. Maybe sooner. It depends. I really miss getting reviews. When I do post, it probably won't be Reconstruction. I have a couple of other pre-Avengers story ideas I need to get out of my head. Not to worry, there are at least four Reconstruction ideas in there, too. But I need a break from this intensity. Follow me and see what I get up to next._


	56. Just Like Old Times

_A/N: I meant to do a Bought the T-Shirt chapter this week, but never had time to finish it. This one was done, so here you go, a new chapter for Reconstruction. And a Tony chapter at that! If this story seems to jump around, that's because there's a lot of action happening all at the same time._

* * *

 **Just like Old Times**

"You're sending us to protect Hammer Industries?" Tony Stark said incredulously.

"The company is a major weapons supplier for the U.S. military," Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross recited in a bored voice. "Since, you know, Stark Industries got out of the 'weapons game'," he added with malice.

"Hammer tried to kill me," Tony pointed out. "And, you know, a few thousand innocent people at the Stark Expo."

"You know that Vanko was the prime aggressor there, and Hammer himself is serving his time in prison," Ross said in more businesslike tones. "The company is a separate entity and not responsible for its founder's crimes."

"Yeah, yeah." Tony waved for Ross to get on with it.

Ross gestured at a map on the screen. "We have creditable intel that there has been a terrorist strike on this Hammer research facility."

"Credible," Vision murmured. It was his first contribution to the briefing. Ross lost his train of thought and just stared blankly at the android.

"'Creditable' means deserving of praise. 'Credible' means believable, convincing," Vision expounded, a blandly helpful expression on his face.

Ross sputtered. Tony and Rhodey hid smiles.

"Sorry, sir," the Air Force man said with every evidence of sincerity. "He's very literal sometimes." But he and Tony knew Vision was trolling Ross. The android might still believe that oversight was important for the Avengers, but he didn't like Ross holding the reins. None of them trusted the former general.

"I apologize if I have spoken out of turn," Vision said, in the most robotic tone he could manage.

The interruption had put Ross off his game. "Yes, well, the Oversight Committee wants the Avengers to protect this factory."

The Avengers knew, the " Oversight Committee" pretty much rubber stamped whatever Ross wanted.

"There are only two Avengers," Tony pointed out. "Rhodey still isn't fit for active combat."

"Surely two armored, flying Avengers can handle a few terrorists," Ross shot back. "Unless you can get your wall-crawling companion."

"He's out of action for awhile," Tony said hastily. He was not dragging Peter into danger again.

Judging by the intelligence Ross gave them, Iron Man and Vision should be able to handle it. Not like they had a choice, anyway. The Oversight Committee had spoken.

"I'll handle the comms," Rhodey said. Ross preened at the capitulation.

* * *

Ross' information said there were six men armed with high-powered weapons holding two dozen scientists and technicians hostage. They were demanding a multimillion-dollar ransom from Hammer Industries. Hammer's CEO had immediately turned the information over to Ross.

"They knew he'd give it to the Avengers. "Hammer's people love to have me by the short hairs," Tony grumbled as the quinjet approached the laboratory/factory. Technically, Iron Man and Vision could have flown to the site, but Rhodey had insisted they save energy and take along the additional resources of the quinjet. Tony suspected Rhodey intended to fly the jet, but Stark had put his foot down and left Rhodey back home on comms.

The cloaked quinjet slipped in quietly, just above the trees, then magically appeared in the parking lot. Microphones picked up a satisfying commotion from inside the building. Tony could hear shouted commands, but things like "scramble" and "gear up" weren't very helpful.

Tony stepped out of the jet and side-slipped to hover facing the front door. Vision walked calmly down the ramp and straight toward the building. His plan was to walk through the wall and solidify inside where he could protect the hostages while Iron Man took care of the gunmen.

"Friday, scan the factory," Tony ordered.

"On it, boss," the AI replied in a feminine Irish voice.

"The majority of people are crammed into one small room, with just two who appear to be guards," the AI reported. "The rest are rushing around in the main factory area. There's too much interference to tell exactly what they're up to," she apologized.

"'Gearing up,' whatever that means," Tony said sourly. "See if you can get more on their weapons."

"Scanning."

The research lab was full of odd and unusual materials, partially masked by literally a ton of metal manufacturing equipment. Friday grumbled to herself as she tried to separate the wheat from the chaff, while keeping Rhodey and Tony apprised of her findings.

Most of the metal could be attributed to factory machines, but some sections were moving independently, which was odd.

A double-wide garage door slid open and two men wearing exoskeletons marched out, ducking under the door and then rising to a full height of about 12 feet. That explained the movement.

"Somebody's been watching too much anime."

Carrying long spears, the exo-guards marched toward Vision. The virtually impervious android set himself to meet the lumbering mechanisms.

* * *

Friday frowned (figuratively) when she detected peculiar trace elements. She focused on their primitive weapons.

"Boss!" Friday's voice was alarmed. Her findings flashed in red before Tony's eyes. "Vibranium! They have vibranium!"

Tony's heart leaped to his throat. "Vision! Dodgeball!" he shouted.

Obedient to his training, Vision instantly dove left and rolled away. The spear he'd been facing so fearlessly missed his chest, but clipped his left side.

The android shouted in pain as the vibranium-tipped spear tore Vision's vibranium-laced skin. Vibranium attracted vibranium. Even when the android was incorporeal, atoms tore loose.

Though he wasn't used to pain, Vision continued his evasive maneuver, rolling on his back and kicking out with a right leg now as dense as platinum.

He struck the knee of the exoskeleton, damaging the joint but not breaking it. The exo-soldier now limped, but so did Vision. The android hobbled away, bent like an old man, clutching a streaming gash in his side.

* * *

In that moment, Tony blessed the names of Rogers and Romanoff. Despite Vision's formidable abilities, they had insisted he train in evasion and other traditional combat techniques. They had drilled and drilled, until his automatic responses were burned into his neutral pathways.

"I owe the captain a drink," Vision said, breathless with pain, as he sought cover.

"Maybe two," Tony agreed.

"I thought you and T'Challa had collected all the vibranium," Rhodey protested from back in New York.

"We tried," Tony growled. "But the destruction of the flying city sent debris everywhere. Someone must have picked up some."

"There's not much," Friday reported, but the spears are coated with it.

"OK, no more playing around." Iron Man launched, preparing to blast the exoskeletons from beyond the reach of their weapons.

"It can't be that easy!" Rhodey warned.

Tony had the same thought, so he dodged when six small vehicles, like armored Smart cars, burst out of the factory. Agile and maneuverable, the vehicles darted hither and thither, firing into the air and driving Tony to the ground.

"More vibranium," Friday reported.

Every sixth bullet was coated with vibranium. The enemy had made the most of their small supply of the rare metal.

The invincible Iron Man was aggravated to find himself hiding behind a parked car like an extra in a cop show. The enemy's weapons were standard, only the ammunition was custom. The vibranium would allow the custom rounds to penetrate the android or the Iron Man armor, but the weapons didn't give them enough oomph to penetrate a vehicle AND the armor. As proof, one bullet punched through the car, but bounced off the armor, leaving a tiny dent.

Vision had scrambled behind another car, two spots down the street from Tony's protection.

"This is not good," Tony commented to Rhodey.

Rhodey was busy trying to get backup for the beleaguered Avengers. But Ross had gone into a meeting and his aide refused to interrupt him. No one else dared to authorize military action.

"He's probably taking a nap," Tony said cynically. "Maybe with company."

* * *

Rhodey slammed his fist down in anger. "Tony needs backup and Ross' flunkies are waiting for 'approval'," he sneered. He seriously wondered if this had been a trap to eliminate Tony, who was a constant thorn in Ross' side. "I wish the rest of the team was here."

Friday hesitated to violate Tony's privacy, but he hadn't actually sworn her to secrecy.

"If you look in the back of the bottom drawer of Tony's desk, you may find a method of calling for help," she offered.

Rhodey wheeled quickly to the desk and found an old flip phone. "This?"

"Yes, colonel."

There was one number under the contacts. Rhodey pressed the button.

"Hello?" a familiar voice said cautiously.

Rhodey gulped down his relief. "Cap! Tony and Vision need help." He explained the mission.

"I can't help," Steve said with palpable regret in his voice. "I'm halfway around the world. I'll never get there in time. But maybe ... maybe I can find someone closer. I'll try, Rhodey, I swear it."

"I believe you," Rhodey said simply and ended the call.

If assistance wasn't close, Rhodey would have to do something to help his old friend himself. He pulled a gaming console out of his own desk drawer. "Now's the time to see if my training pays off."

* * *

"Vision, if all the bad guys are out here, maybe you can phase through the building and free the hostages," Tony said.

"I am afraid …" Vision gulped. "I cannot shift density right now. I am not used to pain. It is very distracting." There was a deep gouge in his side leaking silvery "blood."

"All right. Deep breaths. Try to concentrate," Tony urged.

"I am endeavoring to do so," Vision replied. The pain made him dizzy. He held out his hand and the density shifted erratically. The android concentrated. He feared it would take awhile to adjust — time that he feared they didn't have.

* * *

The souped up Jeep was roaring across the fields, bouncing wildly. Clint Barton steadied it with experienced skill, while Wanda Maximoff clung grimly to the safety bar.

Clint's phone rang. "Answer," he ordered through Bluetooth. Cap's voice came over the Jeep's speakers.

"Clint, Tony's in trouble!"

"Already on the way," Clint answered, swerving around a tree stump and crashing through a wire fence.

"How…?"

"I may be 'retired,' but I still have contacts," the former SHIELD agent said cheerfully. In fact, he had an informant on Ross' staff, who had given him a head's up even before Ross contacted Tony. Clint didn't even have to pay the guy, because Ross was just that beloved among his men.

"Ten minutes," Clint told Steve.

Steve hastily passed on the information about the vibranium weapons. "Vision and the Iron Man armor can't stop those rounds."

Clint grinned. "Maybe not, but I know someone who can." He tipped a look at Wanda, who dipped her head in acknowledgment. "Barton out."

The Jeep slid to a halt, concealed by a copse of trees. When Clint and Wanda emerged, they could hear the sound of weapons fire.

"We can't be seen," Clint warned Wanda.

"Stark and Vision would not betray us when we come to help," Wanda protested.

"I agree, but if Ross finds out they've been in touch with us, they could end up on the Raft."

Wanda shuddered. She still had nightmares.

Clint shouldered his quiver and grabbed his bow. "Come on," he said and began to jog toward the uproar.

Wanda rolled her eyes, scooped Clint up with her magic and zoomed toward the factory.

* * *

Tony leaned around the car and fired a repulsor blast at the nearest armored car, flipping it on its side. He used the diversion to dive for Vision's position. One quick boost from his boot jets propelled him down the street, as bullets riddled the cars he passed.

A new gun began to fire. "Wahoo!"

A small shape darted from the quinjet, bullets spitting at the armored cars and exoskeletons.

"Is that Redwing?" Tony asked.

"Yes. Flown by Colonel Rhodes," Vision answered. Tony had obtained Sam Wilson's Redwing drone from the task force, claiming it was Stark proprietary technology (which it was). Unbeknownst to Tony, Rhodey and Vision had altered the drone, and Rhodey had been practicing with the controls, while Tony thought he was playing a videogame (to improve his hand/eye coordination, of course). It was a very nice surprise.

The drone zipped through the enemy, barrel-rolling in sheer exuberance, then it flipped on its back and zoomed back. Bullets bounced off the armored cars, but struck one of the exoskeletons. The operator slumped and the exoskeleton froze in place, tilted on its damaged knee, then fell to the ground like a toppled tree.

* * *

At the same time, a hole blasted in the rear wall of the factory. The crowd of hostage scientists tumbled out, scrambling for safety. Some scrambled the wrong way and seemed to bounce off a pale pink wall, before they oriented themselves and followed the herd across the fields toward safety.

Tony gawped in surprise, then clapped his mouth shut and took advantage of the multiple distractions.

Inches above the grass he flew, blasting at the wheels of the armored cars. One flipped into the air. Tony caught it and used it as a battering ram to smash a second car.

* * *

Rhodey wove the drone back and forth through the enemy. He was an experienced fighter pilot, but Redwing was made for surveillance, not aerial combat. The bullets were ineffective against the cars, which focused their fire on the drone. Rhodey couldn't avoid the field of fire. Trailing smoke, Redwing plummeted, digging a furrow in the ground.

"Sam will be pissed," Rhodey said to himself, as he let go of the control stick.

* * *

Keeping the first car as a shield, Tony zoomed toward an armored car that was lining up on the fallen android. It fired, but the bullets deflected off an unseen barrier. Then Tony and his battering ram hit it. The impact drove them far from Vision. One of the gun turrets caught the ground and Tony found himself tumbling head over heels, gouging a trench in the grass, much as Redwing had.

Jarred by the crash, Tony looked up to see a vibranium spear aimed at his head. But the exoskeleton's knee suddenly buckled. It fell beside Iron Man, who pointed a gauntlet and blasted the operator into unconsciousness.

Tony staggered to his feet, facing the two remaining armored cars. There was a puff of smoke from one and a shower of sparks from the other. Vision emerged, walking through the sparking car. He looked exhausted, but grabbed the gun of one car and bent it skyward, then he twisted the gun off the other.

"I think that's everything," he said.

Tony counted and Friday confirmed that all the enemy weapons were destroyed and the men were unconscious or dead. Anyone still alive was trapped until troops could come with heavy tools to pry them loose.

"Nice job, taking out two cars at once," Tony told Vision, though he knew something else had happened. Something called Wanda Maximoff.

"You never know what you can do until you try," Vision answered, quoting something Wanda had said.

Tony spotted something by the nearest exoskeleton's knee. It was the shaft of an arrow. The head was missing, blown off in a tiny explosion, just enough to destroy a mechanical knee.

Vision followed Tony's gaze. The android stepped forward, stumbled heavily (he was injured!) and stomped on the arrow with a leaden foot. Carbon fiber dust was all that was left when he raised his foot.

"Were you looking at something?" Vision asked blandly.

"Nah. Trick of the light," Tony answered. "Come on, let's get you patched up. Hey, Rhodey, think Ross will take my calls now that all the danger is over?"

"As soon as he's done with his 'nap,'" Rhodey groused.

Tony's heart felt light. The Accord Avengers had survived a trap designed with them in mind and he had received help from two rogue Avengers who had been very angry with him once upon a time. Forgiveness felt like fine champagne. He almost wanted to giggle.

He'd laugh in Ross' face instead.

* * *

Satisfied everything was under control, Clint returned an arrow to his quiver. Though he was at a distance, hidden among the trees, he'd seen the destruction of his arrow and was satisfied Tony would keep his secret.

"Shall we head back?" Wanda asked.

Clint nodded. "Give an old man a lift?" he suggested.

She laughed and flew them back to their vehicle. It was nice to see our friends again," she said wistfully.

"Yeah," Clint agreed. "Just like old times."


	57. Not Ready

**Not Ready**

Reciting words in Russian was getting more and more tedious, which was a good thing, Steve thought. The words still triggered memories for Bucky, but debilitating flashbacks were increasingly rare.

"I'm actually starting to get bored," Bucky joked.

The others standing around the treatment room nodded.

"I've been bored for weeks," Sam contributed, stretching to relieve a kink in his back. "Not that I'm complaining. I prefer bored."

"I would rather be bored than fight the Winter Soldier," T'Challa agreed, tugging the hem of his brightly colored shirt to straighten it.

"The Soldier would just as soon not face the Black Panther again," Bucky agreed. He eyed the king's gaudy patterned shirt. "Even if he is wearing orange right now."

"We have made much progress," Dr. Uviwe agreed. He steepled his fingers on his desk and tapped his lips thoughtfully with a forefinger. "But we seem to have reached a plateau. Bucky and the Soldier can communicate, but they are still standing apart. I would like to bring them closer together."

Bucky couldn't figure out how much closer they could get, when the Soldier was in his head.

"What do you have in mind, doc?" Steve asked.

Uviwe looked Bucky directly in the eyes. "I would like you to try on your new arm."

"No!" Bucky said instantly, ducking his head, as if Uviwe had thrown a brick at him. And then he felt shaken at how immediately negative his gut reaction had been.

"Neither of us wants to do that," Bucky said unsteadily.

"I understand that," the elderly psychiatrist said kindly. "But I think it would benefit you. You see the Soldier with an artificial arm. You see yourself with one arm. You must defeat that thinking. Or at least call a truce."

"I can't. It's too dangerous. I'm too dangerous," Bucky said shortly. He barged out of the treatment room and nearly ran back to his quarters where he locked himself in his room.

"That could have gone better," Sam commented heavily.

* * *

Uviwe bowed to Bucky's wishes and didn't bring up the subject of trying the new arm again.

"This is still progress," the doctor pointed out to Steve, who was distressed. "Bucky is asserting himself, expressing his preferences. The Winter Soldier was never allowed that."

"But you think he needs to try the arm in order to move on," Steve argued.

"I do believe that, but progress moves at its own pace, sometimes swift as an eagle, sometimes slow as a turtle. We must abide in patience."

Steve did his best to set aside his worry. He had to admit, it was nice to take some time to relax. The group swam a lot, helped the King's Class with lessons (learning a lot themselves) and toured some of the mountain villages. One of the King's Class came from a village on the opposite side of the Wakanda Valley from the capital. When she went back to visit family, she took the Avengers with her. They helped the villagers with projects and, in return, the villagers took them into the jungle and showed them secrets as precious as vibranium. They saw a golden wildcat mama with kittens, monkeys leaping from branch to branch and colorful birds of all shapes and sizes.

Bucky was most fascinated by the orchid glade, a grove of trees that was covered with delicate orchids in pastel shades of lavender, pink and yellow. Jewel-like birds darted about in complex mating dances. Butterflies fluttered from bloom to bloom. The glade was so beautiful, so peaceful.

Though worry remained at the back of Steve's mind, he was glad to see Bucky look so relaxed after the village visit.

* * *

A week later, back at the palace, the group joined T'Challa for an open-air brunch. The third floor terrace looked across the valley. The morning air was cool and refreshing. The mountains looked so clear, you might reach out and touch them.

Bucky sat on the wide, white-plastered wall on the edge of the terrace. He looked at the mountains and remembered the friendly villagers. He toyed with the orchid blossoms in two clay flowerpots, as he laughed at a quip of Sam's. Before he could retort, a siren like a panther's wail echoed through the city. In the courtyard below, people scattered. Bucky leaned out to see what was happening. T'Challa lunged at him and Bucky flinched away automatically, then realized he was toppling off the ledge with no arm on that side to catch himself.

T'Challa grabbed Bucky's flailing arm and hauled him to safety clear across the terrace to the palace wall.

Breathless with fright, Bucky clung to the king's arm. "T'Challa! What the hell?"

The king didn't have time to answer before the earthquake hit.

Bucky had always imagined an earthquake would feel like the ground was shaking, but this was more like a rolling sensation, as if the palace was adrift on a stormy sea. It grew stronger, as if the terrace was trying to buck them off. The Avengers crowded together, as dishes fell to the floor and the flowerpots plummeted three stories to smash on the courtyard below.

Steve swallowed hard. That could have been Bucky, falling to his death again, if T'Challa hadn't recognized the danger. Steve put his forehead on Bucky's shoulder and held on while the ground heaved.

The rolling died away slowly, very slowly, but the siren continued to wail.

"Is it coming back?" Sam asked nervously.

Sharon gasped and pointed. Across the valley, they saw a section break off the far mountain and slide inexorably downslope. Swaths of jungle disappeared, as clouds of birds flew frantically skyward. The sound came moments later, a terrible roar diminished by distance to a hungry, crunching sound.

The siren finally died away.

"That's where the village is," Sam said into the silence.

All the nice people, the delicate orchids and the beautiful birds — they might be gone, Bucky realized with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hoped not, but he wasn't used to getting what he hoped for.

"Avengers, gear up!" Steve snapped. Then he looked apologetically at T'Challa.

"Please, gear up," the king agreed. "We are going to need all hands on deck," he said grimly.

* * *

Steve, Sam and Sharon rushed to get their equipment. T'Challa strode off, barking orders in his communicator. Bucky stood by himself uncertainly, until his jaw clenched in determination and he hurried off as well.

Wearing his Nomad uniform with no cowl, Steve pulled on his gauntlets and a backpack full of rescue gear, then donned a helmet provided by the Wakandans — black, high impact plastic, protection against falling rocks (but not boulders). Sam and Sharon had identical helmets. Sam wore his wings and Sharon had a backpack full of medical supplies.

The three joined T'Challa at the landing pad where a huge "grasshopper" flyer was waiting. Rescue workers were loading up supplies and piling in.

"We are ready, my king," a man reported, before climbing in himself.

Steve had hoped Bucky would at least come to wish them luck, but he hadn't seen his friend since they left the terrace.

"Time to go," T'Challa said. He jumped in, followed by the Avengers. Steve was last in, lingering by the open door, as the engine began to ramp up.

* * *

"Wait!" Bucky emerged from the building and rushed to join them, as the flyer's wheels left the tarmac. Bucky's silvery new arm grabbed the edge of the door so he could swing inside with Steve pulling him to safety. Bucky ended up half in Steve's lap until Nomad could slide over on the bench seat and make room for his old friend.

"Thought I wasn't going to make it," Bucky panted.

Steve smiled to see his friend, but worried that Bucky had felt pressured to don the new arm so he could help.

"Buck, are you sure?" Steve asked and Bucky knew what he meant.

"It was time to stop twiddling my thumb and get with the program," Bucky answered. "Anyway, T'Challa said all hands on deck," he said with dark humor and wiggled his new fingers by way of demonstration.

 **To be continued**

* * *

 _A/N: I wrote most of this story before I saw the Black Panther movie, but the technology did influence some of my descriptions in editing. The grasshopper helicopter is like the dragon flyers seen in the Black Panther movie, but the grasshoppers are heavier, bigger bodied machines meant for transporting heavy loads._


	58. Ready or Not

**Ready or Not**

"You got the arm!" Steve exclaimed, stating the obvious but also saying what everyone was thinking.

"Uh, yeah." Bucky looked embarrassed. "I realized you all were rushing to the rescue and I couldn't help. Or maybe I could help with one arm, but I could help more with two, and there was an arm waiting for me that I was too afraid to use. I was ashamed of my cowardice."

His friends started to protest, but Bucky stopped them with a look. He smiled puckishly at Steve. "Anyway, couldn't let the punk go into danger without backup."

"What are we, chopped liver?" Sam complained humorously, gesturing at Sharon, T'Challa and himself.

Bucky shrugged, then studied the movement of the arm in appreciative wonder. "I thought maybe I'd left it too long, that an hour wouldn't be enough time to adjust, but it fit perfectly."

"Like it was made for you?" T'Challa teased. "My friend, our technicians removed the remains of your old arm before you went into cryo. They had months to study it, to adjust the new arm so it would fit you perfectly. Your new arm was ready for you the moment I presented it to you at your birthday party. It was you who was not ready for it."

* * *

While the grasshopper helicopter roared across the valley, one of the technicians briefed Bucky on the details of his arm. He could lock it in place with a mental command, so even Steve's tugging couldn't budge it. When Steve put his back into it, he pulled Bucky's whole body, but the arm remained locked in position, until Bucky ordered it to unlock.

Bucky could also squeeze his fingers tight together, in a way that would dislocate a normal thumb, but his vibranium thumb would pop right back into place.

Sam looked a little sick at that demonstration. Steve just commented it would be handy for escaping from manacles. They all remembered Berlin.

"Don't like that?" Bucky smirked at Sam queasiness. "How about this?"

He twisted his wrist clear around until his hand was facing backwards.

Sam gagged and turned away. Steve handed him a bottle of water. He twisted off the cap and took a deep draft. "Sorry," he said, when he realized everyone was looking at him. "I've seen a real hand that went like that."

He didn't really have to explain what that meant for flesh and blood and bone. The others sobered, realizing they might find bodies mangled like that in the village.

"Sorry," Bucky said, and twisted his hand back in place — continuing its turn, so it rotated a full 360 degrees. Sam pointedly did not watch.

Bucky nudged him. "This is the good part. Cover my eyes."

Sam squeezed behind Bucky and put his hands over the soldier's eyes. The technician pulled a long hair from her ponytail and dangled it until it just touched Bucky's forefinger. That finger twitched.

Sam watched fascinated, as the hair trailed on different parts of the vibranium hand, and Bucky could identify where the hair was. Then the woman abruptly pulled a knife and stabbed Bucky's wrist. Sam jumped, but Bucky just chuckled.

"Sensitive to touch, but no pain sensors," Bucky said in appreciation. He turned the hand around so Sam and the others could see the knife hadn't left a scratch.

"It's sensitive to heat, too," the technician said. "But it won't get painful until the heat begins to transfer to his flesh."

"So a quick grab into a fire is OK, but don't use it to roast marshmallows," Sharon said humorously.

The woman chuckled and agreed.

"And it's resistant to electricity?" Steve asked, but it wasn't really a question, because he knew vibranium's properties. The technician agreed.

"The Widow wouldn't be able to short out this arm," Sam said.

* * *

The grasshopper flyer flew above the village. The damage was less than feared, but still terrible. The landslide had torn through one corner of the village. Most of the homes were intact, but one section had been decimated. It was impossible to believe anyone could be alive in that area that just didn't exist any more. There was a boundary strip between decimation and unharmed, where buildings had been hit but not flattened. This is where the villagers congregated, searching through the rubble.

As the grasshopper flyer passed overhead, the tearful people looked up and cheered the rescuers.

"Find a safe landing spot," T'Challa ordered his technicians. "Find a safe place to set up our hospital, and find out whether that peak is safe."

He pointed at the place where the slide had started. It didn't look safe. The first landslide had undercut the cliff above it. There was a chunk of rock the size of a four-story building hanging over the village.

The technicians used ground penetrating radar and several sensors that the Avengers didn't understand to analyze the mountain.

"The peak is not safe, my king," the sensor chief reported, pulling up a holographic map for everyone to see. "That section will fall soon, even if we do not get an aftershock, which is highly likely. When it falls, the landslide is most likely to take this path." A section of the map was highlighted red.

Bucky caught his breath. The danger zone included half the remaining village and all the boundary area where the rescue crew would be working.

"These areas should be safe," the sensor chief continued. Green areas flashed on either side of the slide zone. "The mountain above these areas shows no fractures and there are solid rock outcroppings here and here that will block a fall, if it happens," she said.

"Set down here," T'Challa said. "And begin setting up the hospital."

The Wakandans saluted, arms across their chests, and the Avengers bowed their heads in acknowledgement.

The grasshopper flyer set down and rescue workers piled out. Technicians set up monitoring stations. Medical staff erected a tent hospital, stretching out large cloths and activating the vibranium woven in, so pieces of cloth became forcefield walls instantly.

T'Challa sent some workers to erect forcefields above the undamaged village.

"We cannot stop a falling mountain, but we may be able to funnel some of the rock away from the homes," he said.

Everyone scattered to different chores, leaving the Avengers, T'Challa and three powerful male warriors as the main search and rescue team.

T'Challa looked at Sharon. "Agent Carter," he said formally. "I would like you to stay here and coordinate the relief efforts. The villagers will need places to go and supplies until the situation is stabilized.

Sharon turned a glare on Steve, who backed away. "It wasn't me," he protested.

"No, this is my decision," T'Challa said firmly. "You are a capable agent, but moving rocks is not your forte. On the other hand, you have experience with disaster relief and you are a master quartermaster."

"You found an ear trumpet for Bucky's party. An ear trumpet!" Sam pointed out.

"You're the best, Carter," Bucky said quietly.

Sharon nodded agreement.

"Fundiswa, coordinate with Carter. She speaks for me," the king said, getting a salute from the woman.

"But I will listen to your experience," Sharon told the older woman. "Is there a nearby village that can take these people in?"

The two began to discuss their options.

T'Challa nodded. "Let's go move rocks," the king said.

He passed out handheld scanners that would find anyone trapped in the rubble.

As the rescuers moved toward the village, they passed villagers streaming the other way, helping injured, bleeding neighbors limp to the field hospital and carrying a few on makeshift stretchers. Children trotted alongside, trying to be brave despite their tears.

The village headman jogged beside T'Challa, telling him about the missing and dead.

"We have found signs of life in two buildings. They were hit by boulders, but not the main slide," the man said. "And two children are missing. They are not in the house where they were left. They may have gone to play in the shade over there." He pointed at a jumble of fallen bricks that had been a wall.

The king asked Bucky to look for the children. The rest of them went to the collapsed buildings, where the strength of the Black Panther and the Super Soldier made short work of clearing the debris. Steve and T'Challa uncovered all the victims. Sam carried debris away, then airlifted an injured woman to the hospital. The king sent the rest of the villagers and his men to take the rest of the injured to safety while he and Steve double-checked the rubble with their sensors. Sam cruised back, surveying from overhead.

* * *

Bucky stepped slowly, carefully among the rubble of the retaining wall. He scanned for signs of life, and then got a blip.

He knelt and carefully picked away stones, until he saw two pairs of bright eyes peering out from a drainage pipe. Bucky saw scratches on their hands and faces, but no serious injuries.

He greeted them in Wakandan. "Come out. I have come with your king to help you."

One of the little ones looked beyond Bucky to see the king. He pointed excitedly and the two scrambled up where Bucky could catch them.

He scooped the two kids out of the rubble and began to jog toward the safe zone, when an ominous crack came from high above. Warning shouts mingled with the roar of rock racing down the mountain toward the village and the Avengers.

 **To be continued**


	59. Ready or Not, Part 2

**Ready or Not, Part 2**

Rescue workers scrambled for safety. Sam grabbed Steve and T'Challa by the backs of their uniforms and soared to safety.

And Bucky was alone in the middle of the danger area with two kids in his arms. He locked his vibranium arm and began to run. His super soldier strides covered the ground and vaulted over rubble, but he was too far from the safe zone. For the first time in his life, Bucky wished he had artificial legs as well.

The avalanche roared closer, then another roaring made itself known. Sam had dropped Steve and T'Challa is a safe area, and was speeding back toward Bucky. It was going to be close. Bucky changed direction to run toward Sam.

"Hand!" Sam yelled over the noise, nearly blasting everyone's eardrums over the comms.

Bucky stopped and raised his right arm. Jets blasting on the red line, Sam grabbed Bucky's hand and climbed for altitude. The first wave of rocks knocked against Bucky's boots, then they were free, soaring above the tumbling, turbulent tidal wave of rocks.

Bucky bit down on a scream, as the sudden jerk dislocated his shoulder. Sam must have realized, because he took his passengers straight to the hospital area.

Sam set down his friend with a lot more gentleness than he'd scooped him up. Bucky's right arm sagged oddly, but he was able to bend over and unlock his left arm to release his small passengers. They were babbling in Wakandan too fast for Bucky to understand more than a few words: "fast," "high" and "fun." He supposed they were too small to understand the danger.

A woman ran up, tears flowing. She grabbed the two tots, thanking God, thanking Sam, thanking him. She set the children down and grabbed Bucky in a bear hug that made him grunt with pain, for which she apologized profusely. She hugged Sam, too, then hustled the children away to be checked by the medical team.

"I felt that dislocate," Sam told Bucky, pointing at the soldier's right arm.

"Yeah." There was no point denying it.

"You were supposed to raise your left arm, dumbass," Sam said.

"Wanted to make sure I didn't drop the kids," Bucky answered.

Both men's eyes followed the chattering kids who had, miraculously, come away with just a few scratches and bruises.

"Good call," Sam said with quiet approval. He grasped Bucky's right hand as if to shake it, then twisted the arm up and back. Bucky yelped at the sudden pain, then sighed with relief as the shoulder slid back into its socket.

"A little warning would have been nice," he grumbled, as he worked his shoulder back and forth.

"People just tense up when I warn them," the pararescue airman replied. "Ready to go back to work?"

"Yeah."

"No need, my friends," T'Challa said as he and Steve trotted up. They had been forced to wait until the landslide settled. "We had cleared the last of the houses before the rock fall. Those babies were the last that we had not found. I was about to call a halt when the cliff collapsed." He surveyed the broken side of the village. "Six dead in the first fall. It is very sad, but it could have been so much worse."

"I think the village will want to relocate," Steve said. Though most of the buildings were untouched, the great scar on one side would forever be a reminder of death and terror.

"Yes, we will help them build a new village after we do a thorough seismic study of the mountain," the king agreed. "Agent Carter and Fundiswa are working on the relocation now."

* * *

With the rescues done and the village area too unstable for cleanup to begin, Sharon was the one with the most work to do. There was an outpouring of supplies from across the country, but Fundiswa and Sharon had to make sure the villagers got the right supplies.

As Sharon said, there was no point in getting a hundred mattresses with no blankets to cover them. Fundiswa and Sharon worked well together, relying on the Wakandan's knowledge of the country's resources and the American's experience with relief work. They had housing and medical care arranged for all the villagers before the rescue workers had finished salvaging personal items from the undamaged buildings — with Sam standing by in case another rescue was needed. But the day's excitement was over.

* * *

"I've got a question," Bucky said hesitantly, when the king's group prepared to fly home. "I know it's not as important as the village, but … did the orchid glade survive?"

One of the village children had ventured close to the men. He had been one of the guides during the Avengers' first visit.

"The glade is farther east," he said, pointing away from the path of destruction. "We can go see."

Bucky, Steve, Sam and Sharon decided to check it out. T'Challa remained to organize the evacuation. The boy, Khwezi, led them directly, no winding jungle paths to confuse the people who were no longer strangers. The group moved quietly, carefully pushing aside a curtain of vines to step into the dappled sunlight of the glade. The monkeys and the birds were gone, probably hiding after all the noise, but the delicate orchids still seemed to glow in the half light and the brightly colored butterflies still flitted from blossom to blossom, unconcerned by tragedy nearby.

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief that this magical place hadn't been destroyed.

"It's so fragile and so beautiful. It gives me hope," Sharon said quietly.

Steve put his arm across her shoulder and pulled her close to kiss the top of her head.

* * *

Back at the palace, the king joined his hardworking friends in a well-deserved meal, along with Uviwe, who glad to see the rescue work had been good for his patient. Bucky seemed more confident and used his new arm easily, as if he'd been born with it.

"My friends. My country honors you for your heroism, especially yours," T'Challa told Bucky.

"I didn't do anything more than any of the others," Bucky protested.

"When my people needed help, you set aside your own wishes and fears. You took on a prosthetic arm that brings back horrific memories. But you did this, because others were in danger. You are a hero."

Bucky dropped his eyes and regarded the vibranium arm he'd used to save lives today. He flexed his fingers and smiled. If he was a hero, he'd better start acting like one.

"I'm ready," he told Uviwe confidently.

"Are you sure?" the doctor asked.

"Yes. I'm ready to let Steve recite the whole trigger list. But we're taking the arm off first," he added cautiously.

"Acceptable," Uviwe said with a smile.

* * *

One-armed and relaxed, Bucky entered Uviwe's familiar treatment room with his friends trailing behind him.

Steve looked more nervous than the patient did. Bucky grabbed his old pal in a fervent hug. "It's gonna be OK. Whatever happens, I'm better now. This is the next step. We have to do it eventually."

"Jerk," Steve said in a choked voice.

"Punk," Bucky answered affectionately. He took his seat with Steve standing in front of him. Sam and Sharon stood behind Bucky, flanking him. Uviwe was behind his desk with T'Challa.

"I'm ready," Bucky told Steve.

"Ready or not, here we go," Sam muttered, winning a smile from Bucky and Steve.

Cap took a deep breath, then began to recite the trigger words.

Bucky shut his eyes, shivering. He bent his head, twitching at every word. At the last word, he shuddered all over, then went entirely still.

The room was silent, waiting.

"Bucky?" Steve ventured.

Bucky opened his eyes. He met Steve's gaze serenely, but didn't speak.

"Bucky?" Steve asked again, then, heart sinking into his boots, Steve said, "Soldier?"

And Bucky said, "Ready to comply."

 **To be continued**


	60. Always Winter and Never Christmas

_A/N: I tried to post this yesterday, but leprechauns must have been partying in the system._

I've been waiting to use this title. This is the ending I planned from the beginning, because I felt the need to put Marvel's toys back where I found them. After seeing Black Panther, I added a little because it fit so well with what I'd already written, so there are spoilers (nothing deep) for the movie in the middle.

* * *

 **Always Winter and Never Christmas**

Steve felt like he'd been punched by the Hulk. All their work, all his hopes, and nothing had changed.

Then Sam sidled over the poked Steve's arm. "He said it in English," he pointed out. "And he … doesn't look the same as before."

It was true. Soldat had been blank or laser focused when his attention was caught. This Bucky looked calm and aware of his surroundings, though more passive than Bucky Barnes.

"Who are you?" Uviwe asked.

Bucky looked at Steve, who nodded. "Answer the question," he said hoarsely.

"We are James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier."

"Not Zimniy Soldat?"

Bucky's face darkened. "We are not Soldat. We will never be Soldat again," he spat.

"That is good," Uviwe said. "So you are Barnes and the Soldier?"

"We are one," Bucky confirmed. His eyes went to Steve. "We are ready to comply."

Steve choked down a small sound of protest. "Do you want a mission?" It was hard to force the words out. "Do you need one?"

Bucky frowned. "I do not 'want.' I do not 'need.' I am ready to comply."

"Will you do anything the captain asks?" Sam questioned.

"Yes," Bucky answered firmly.

"Do you know me?"

"Sam Wilson, formerly the Falcon, now the Owl."

"Are we friends, you and I?"

"You are Barnes' friend," Bucky agreed. "You saved his life, our life, yesterday."

Sam braced himself. Sometimes a therapist had to ask the hard questions. "Would you kill me if the captain asked?"

Steve's wordless noise of protest was audible this time.

The Soldier focused on Sam. It was different than the Soldat's focus, but just as unsettling. Bucky answered instantly, "Yes."

"Why?" Uviwe asked. "If you are friends, why would you kill Sam?"

"Because the captain asked," Bucky said, as if it was obvious.

"Why?" Uviwe asked again.

"Because he is the captain."

Sharon giggled suddenly. "Captain's orders. That's not so different from you and me, Sam. Steve showed up on your doorstep and you dropped everything to follow his orders. I turned against the agency I worked for, an agency my family helped found, because Steve said so. The Soldier's no different than we are."

"You think it's just me?" Steve asked with a flicker of hope. "You think he's willing to comply just because I said the words?"

"Perhaps," Uviwe said. "Bucky Barnes has trusted Steve Rogers for years. That may carry over to the Soldier's handler."

"But there is no way to be sure, unless someone else says the trigger words and the Soldier refuses to obey," T'Challa pointed out. "And who would we trust to do that? Who would we trust that Barnes does not already trust?"

Steve could think of a couple of people, Thor, Bruce Banner, maybe even Tony Stark now that they'd come to an understanding. But none of them was available. Steve shook his head wordlessly.

"The captain looks sad," the Soldier said. "I'm sorry we failed you."

Steve was so choked by disappointment, he could hardly speak, but he managed, "No, you didn't fail me. We failed you. I'm not disappointed in you, pal. I'm disappointed we couldn't free you from these … chains."

The Soldier tilted his head. "The chains that bind me to the captain are nearly 100 years old. I do not want to break them."

"And that answers that," Sam said.

Steve's arm lifted toward Bucky of its own accord, but he forced it down. The Soldier noticed, of course. "You should hug us. It will make you feel better."

Steve pulled the Soldier into a hug. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered.

Bucky patted his back. "Do not be sorry. We are not sorry."

* * *

Steve finally pulled himself together and ordered the Soldier to go to sleep and to wake as Bucky Barnes.

"We will comply," the Soldier said. He went to his room and slept.

* * *

Bucky woke up as Bucky again. He saw Steve sitting by his bedside, head bowed over his clenched hands and tear streaks on his face.

"I'm sorry, Stevie," he said.

"Not your fault, Buck," Steve answered past a wave of relief. The captain looked exhausted. "We tried a treatment and it didn't work." Steve tried to shrug as if it didn't matter much, but he couldn't pull it off.

"It did work," Bucky corrected. "I felt different. I felt peaceful, not tortured. I wasn't angry. I wasn't exactly myself, but I'm not unhappy with who I was."

"But you still would have followed my orders blindly."

"Your orders. I don't know about anyone else's." Bucky sounded thoughtful. "If someone tried to get me to attack you again, I don't think it would work."

"Can't exactly test it," Steve pointed out.

"No."

The door opened and Sam and Sharon poked their heads in. "He awake?"

"He is," Bucky confirmed. He smelled food and sat up, stomach growling. "Is that for me?"

"For both of you," Sharon said. She wheeled in a cart filled with their favorites. Bucky reached for the chicken and dumplings while Steve went for the Irish stew.

When his first hunger was assuaged, Bucky said, "I'm sorry, Sam. I don't want to kill you."

Sam shrugged. "I asked the question. Sometimes counselors have to ask the questions no one else wants to. At least this time you didn't rip off my wings or my car's steering wheel."

* * *

T'Challa and Uviwe joined the Avengers for dessert.

"This is not the end of your healing," Uviwe told his patient. "It is merely the end of my part in it. We have persuaded the two halves of your mind to become reconciled. Now, perhaps, more physical healing can complete the process and fully erase Hydra's compulsions."

"Physical?" Bucky asked.

"I thought all the medical treatment had been completed," Steve challenged.

T'Challa held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "This is new," he said. "We have a ... researcher who has been exploring the healing properties of vibranium. Your case led her to turn her attention to healing the mind, specifically countering brainwashing. This is, you understand, not something we have had occasion to need before."

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, literally and figuratively flattening the hackles that had been raised on Bucky's behalf. "Sorry," he said.

T'Challa shrugged. "Barnes has a valiant defender in you. This I already knew."

"You think this new treatment can help?" Bucky asked.

"I think it is worth a try," T'Challa said.

"I guarantee it will not harm you," Uviwe put in.

"I trust you, doc," Bucky said.

"We have another concern," T'Challa said. "The period of hiatus is coming to an end. Soon I will be crowned."

"I thought you were already king?" Sam said, puzzled.

"No, we have been in an interregnum, since my father's death. The earliest part was a period of mourning. The latter part has been, you might say, a trial kingship. My people have a chance to see me and to decide if they will challenge my leadership."

"Challenge?"

"Yes, according to our traditions, I must fight for my crown," T'Challa said matter-of-factly.

"And, traditionally, we should not have any white faces present," a pert voice contributed. The speaker was a young, well-dressed woman with bright, intelligent eyes and a cheerful smile.

"Does that mean I can stay?" Sam teased.

The girl wibble-wobbled her hand. "Right color, but still an outsider," she teased back.

T'Challa gave a long-suffering sigh. "This is my sister, Shuri. Shuri, these are my friends." He emphasized his final word.

I understand, brother." Shuri eyed Bucky curiously. "Is this the broken white boy you want me to heal?"

"If you can," T'Challa answered.

"You know I love a challenge," she answered.

"You? But you're so young," Bucky said. It was said in wonder, not protest and Shuri took it as a compliment.

"Princess Shuri is a genius with vibranium technology," Uviwe said proudly.

"Will you help my friend?" Steve asked politely.

"I will try," she said kindly. "But he can't stay here. None of you can stay here right now. We will be overrun with visitors soon and some of them have deep prejudice against white colonizers."

The Americans nodded. They had learned quite a bit of Wakandan history, though information about vibranium had remained classified.

"Where should we go?" Sharon asked.

Bucky remembered the peace of the jungle village and asked if there would be a simple hut somewhere he would be out of the way.

"That is a good thought. In fact, some of our village friends have moved away from the mountain that cost them so much. A group has settled near the river, looking for peace and quiet such as you have described. I'm sure they would be willing to take you in," T'Challa said.

Shuri nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, I can work with that."

* * *

Sharon and Sam left with the Wakandans to plan their move, leaving the two old friends alone. Steve sat beside Bucky on his bed, shoulder-to-shoulder like the brothers they were.

Bucky told Steve, "I don't know if this will work. I don't think you should sit here waiting for me to get better. You've been away from the outside world too long as it is."

"Maybe I should go," Steve admitted. "But I'm glad you don't have to go back into cryo. You're safe here. No one's afraid of you."

"I still think they should be. I'm still not safe to be around. It's still possible someone could take me over with just a few words."

"Uviwe thinks you would break the conditioning, if it was someone you didn't trust."

"He thinks. But we don't know. Princess Shuri seems very sure, but I'm not."

"Will you feel better if I stay here to keep an eye on you?"

"That's not fair," Bucky said instantly. "It's not fair to all the people that Nomad can help. Go back out in the world. Help people. It's what you were meant to do. It's what you were always meant to do."

"I don't care," Steve said immediately. "I can help people here. We can help rebuild the village. I would rather be here with you than anywhere else without. At least I'm not a fugitive here."

"Is it fair to Sam and Sharon?"

Steve sighed. "They don't seem inclined to leave, but I won't force them to stay if they don't want to. Sam's always telling me I have a right to be selfish. This time I want to be selfish. I'm with you to the end of the line."

"I think this might be the end of the line for me," Bucky confessed.

Steve's shoulder nudged Bucky's. "Maybe, but I guess we know better than most, when one train gets to the end of the line, there's another one coming along to take you back. You just have to wait for it."

* * *

 _A/N: Look for a one-shot next week about Bucky watching the Paralympics and then back to Leslie and Steve in Bought the T-Shirt. Then I'll be traveling in April, so no promises. I hope Infinity War provides much inspiration._


End file.
